


Song of My Soul

by jrayoh23



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Confused Draco Malfoy, Confused Harry, Hermione is very helpful, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Talent Show, House unity, M/M, Romance, Slash, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5252375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jrayoh23/pseuds/jrayoh23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is having nightmares again and just when he thinks there is nothing to help him, he hears a song. The song is coming from the Room of Requirement and it is beautiful. Without realizing it, the song helps Harry fall asleep. Harry finds he is desperate to know who is playing the song and Hermione thinks up a clever way to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This will eventually have slash in it, which is why it is rated M. The first few chapters don't contain it, but I promise it will happen :) Lots of Harry thinking about stuff at first, so bear with me. I hope everyone enjoys it! It's a bit different from my other story. 
> 
> Comments are so very appreciated! xoxo

Snow was building up outside Hogwarts Castle, plumes of untouched flakes covered the once green fields and hung from the branches of trees like pictures over a mantlepiece. Winter was settling in like an old friend and Christmas break was fast approaching and Harry was halfway through his eighth year at Hogwarts. 

Inside, the castle was quite. The dawn was barely breaking over the horizon, the pinks and oranges, stretching across the sky the way one stretches after a good nap, shone against the snow. 

Most of the students were still sleeping, but not Harry. No, the Saviour of the Wizarding World found himself sleepless like he had many times over the years, mostly thanks to Voldemort and the nightmares that came along with being The Boy Who Lived. 

This year, Harry had taken to walking the length of the castle under the protection of his invisibility cloak, when his nightmares began to plague him again. He had hoped he was free of them, of course, but lately they had been resurfacing. Only images. Flashes, really. So many people he loved; dead. His guilt was resounding and his friends only pacified him, hoping to forget the war the way one forgets about leftovers in the back of the icebox. 

But Harry couldn’t forget. He couldn’t sleep. He was barely making it through classes. He was drowning and the only thing that kept him floating was walking the castle in the hours before everyone was awake and knowing they were safe because of the sacrifices he and his friends had made, and in those moments, he felt happy that he helped so many people. 

Normally, the walks were quiet aside from the soft padding of his footsteps along the stone floor, but today Harry heard something. A melody. Soft. Delicate. Sad. And he found himself being drawn to it, the keys of a piano echoing through the corridors like a ghost. Each note tugged at his soul, unearthing something in Harry that he had buried after Sirius’s death. 

Harry found himself on the seventh floor, left corridor, standing across from the tapestry depicting the attempt of Barnabas the Barmy to teach troll ballet (a fact he would thank Hermione for later). It was also a place he was all too familiar with after his fifth year. 

He was standing outside of the Room of Requirement and the melody was coming from inside. Since Harry was not the one in need of the room, he saw no door, but he could still hear the languid notes of the piano keys and it was really the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. All at once, Harry was wondering if music had ever sounded like this before, but he couldn’t remember ever having the time to listen. 

So, Harry sat down, back against the place where he knew the door would have been and closed his eyes as the mystery piano player continued their song. Harry didn’t know if it was a famous melody, or if the mystery player had composed it themselves. 

All Harry knew is that the soft notes seemed to be lulling him to sleep, carrying away his nightmares like the last vestiges of a ship wrecked at sea. His eyes fluttered shut and he let himself be carried off into a slumber, one that was free of Voldemort. Free of his dead loved ones. Free of sadness. It was the best sleep he had ever experienced and felt himself craving that peaceful sleep again and again. 

He found he dreamed, sort of: He was standing in a field of red tulips. The sun was setting and the sky was orange, bright orange, with tints of pink and purple around the edges of the horizon. Harry was barefoot and could feel the grass between his toes. It was squishy as if it had just rained. It was more like a vision, but it was peaceful and Harry had felt like he belonged in that field. Every part of him felt like it was in the right place for the first time in his life. 

After that morning, Harry found himself on the seventh floor, left corridor, each morning for a week, listening to the piano player and wishing he knew who it was that played such a somber song; a song that Harry related to better than most people anymore. The dream always remained the same, just Harry in the field with the tulips. Each dream felt real and each dream calmed him like he was getting close to something that he had always been in search of. 

Of course, he tried the Marauder’s Map, but no such luck. The Room of Requirement didn’t show up there and there were too many students at Hogwarts to sift through the map in hopes of seeing which student had been missing from their bed. 

Harry wanted to ask his friends, but he had also been afraid of ruining the magic that the music held over him. He was scared that if he mentioned it, then the music would stop. The piano player would be spooked and Harry would be left to his nightmare’s again. In a week’s time Harry had become dependent on the mystery player. He needed them to play their song the same way he needed oxygen. 

And it had of course occurred to him a few times that music was all in his head. That maybe he was going crazy now that the war was over. It wasn’t a stretch, really. Apparently, Harry had been withdrawn lately and everyone seemed overly concerned about his wellbeing. People had begun doting on his as if he were a temperamental child, the way Aunt Petunia doted on Dudley, so afraid to say the wrong thing in fear of the boy going off on a tantrum. 

But since it was the only time he slept without nightmares, Harry didn’t care if he had gone mad. In fact, if he was mad, it was the best feeling he had ever experienced and that was fine by him. At least there was peace in this. Listening to the song of the piano player soothed him in a way that he hadn’t thought possible. Especially after the war. Especially since Harry thought of himself as broken because it seemed he was the only one having trouble adjusting to life after Voldemort, to a life where he would finish Hogwarts, become an Auror and marry Ginny, just as everyone expected him to. 

So, on his seventh day sitting outside of the Room of Requirement, Harry willed himself to stay awake in hopes of learning the identity of the one person who seemed to understand Harry, even if it were only though song. 

But the melody carried him away like a soft wind carries the petals of a dandelion. Harry was asleep again, back against the wall; dreaming of the field again


	2. Small Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets a brilliant idea to help identify the mystery piano player. Harry deals with Draco being his potions partner. Small steps are taken...

“Harry, mate, are you listening to me?” Ron questioned, wide eyed and waiting for an answer and Harry couldn’t help but sigh a bit before answering because Ron’s concerned face was starting to resemble Hermione’s. The two made quite the pair. And their incessant concern was starting to bother Harry, even though he knew it came from a good place. Each day was the same with them: Harry, how are you feeling today? How did you sleep, Harry? How’s classes, mate? You sure you and Ginny are through? And on and on it went like some demented merry-go-round. 

“Sorry, Ron. I, uh, zoned out. What did you ask me?” Harry answered honestly. The reason he had not heard Ron’s question was because he was too busy replaying the melody from that morning over in his head. He was trying to picture what the player looked like, but he couldn’t settle on a face. He only saw slender, long fingers, that would caress the keys softly and with purpose. The idea sent a shiver down Harry’s body and he found he wanted to touch the hands of the mystery piano player. 

“I said, are you going to sign up for the talent show?” Ron spoke as he shuffled bits of egg into his mouth. Sloppily chewing as he waited for Harry’s response. 

“Erm, no I don’t think I will. Will you?” Harry had no talents, unless you counted Quidditch, but he was pretty sure McGonagall wouldn’t allow him to fly around on a broomstick to catch a snitch as a talent. The talent show was next week. It was Hogwarts first, in fact. McGonagall thought it would help raise sprits and promote unity, which was her (and the Ministry’s) new thing. If all witches and wizards felt unified, then maybe someone like Voldemort wouldn’t appear again. Wishful thinking, really, but Harry was on board. 

“Merlin, no. I’ve got no talents,” Ron laughed as he shoved yet more eggs in his mouth. 

“Me either, mate. What about ‘Mione? She seemed sort of excited for it. What had she called it?”

“A excellent opportunity to showcase her newfound skill of playing the Lute?” Ron did his best impression of Hermione which, of course, was bloody awful, but Harry laughed all the same. 

“Right, who just decides to learn to play an instrument like that?”

“Hermione,” the pair said in unison and began laughing. It was nice to laugh. Harry felt like he hadn’t done it quite often enough since the war ended. Sometimes, when everyone else laughed, Harry would join in, only to stave off Hermione’s knowing questions. But this laugh had been a real one and Harry felt like that was progress he could thank the mystery piano player for, once he found out who they were. 

As if on cue, Hermione sat down at the table next to Ron. Her bushy hair was tamed back by a small hair clip and her hands were full of books. Something in the familiarity of the scene made Harry fell happy. It was almost like the war never happened. The song really was doing wonders for Harry. He hadn’t been overwhelmed by nightmares in a week and that was helping his mood considerably. 

“Morning,” Hermione began, “Harry you seem very well rested compared to last week.” 

“Yeah, slept a bit better,” Harry replied. He wasn’t exactly sure how Hermione always seemed to pick up on his moods so easily. Seriously, Harry could shift from happy, to slightly agitated and Hermione would pick up on it and then proceed to ask him a bunch of questions about his mood and if he was sleeping properly. It really was endearing, even when he found it extremely annoying at times. 

“But mate, you weren’t in your bed like all week when I woke up. Doesn’t that usually mean you’ve gone for your morning walk thing?” Ron asked. 

“Uh, right. I was on my walks,” Harry answered hoping the vagueness of his response wouldn’t set his best mates off on an interrogation. But Harry had no such luck. 

“Don’t you only do that when you’ve had nightmares?” Hermione asked, even though it wasn’t a question, not really, seeing as she already knew the answer. 

“Yeah.”

“But you are well rested, so you can’t have had nightmares. So why the walks?” Hermione continued, clever as ever. 

“It’s, well, it is sort of hard to explain.”

“Try me,” Hermione said and so Harry began telling his best mates about the mystery piano player and how the songs made him feel at peace in a way nothing else had. He even told them about the dream and the field. Harry was blushing by the end of his story, though Merlin knows why. It wasn’t exactly and embarrassing story, but it was something Harry had hoped to keep secret a bit longer. The music seemed to be his and his only. Like the piano player was doing it just for him and that made Harry feel special, which was not something Harry often felt. Sure, being the Saviour of the Wizarding World sounded special, but Harry only ever saw that as a title. He wasn’t anymore a hero than his classmates. It just so happened that his life was intertwined with Voldemort. That didn’t make him special. It made him a legend, instead of a boy. But this song, there was something in it’s softness that spoke to Harry. It was sad like him, but it was progressing and that gave Harry hope. 

“So, you have no idea who it is?” Ron broke the silence that Harry’s story had prompted. 

“No clue,” Harry said, “I checked the map, but the room doesn’t show up on the map, now does it?” 

“Have you tried seeing who was missing from their bed?” Ron asked. 

“Yes, but there are too many students, so I gave up and tried to stay awake this morning hoping I would run into the person, but I fell asleep again.” 

“Blimey, Harry what a weird situation you’ve managed to get into. It’s like you’ve fallen for a ghost, except this ghost isn’t floating about Hogwarts announcing itself at every opportunity like Sir Nicolas,” Ron concluded. 

“I’ve an idea,” Hermione said, but before she revealed her idea, she was up out of her seat and making her way out of the Great Hall. 

*

Later on, in double potions with the Slytherins, Harry found himself drumming his fingers against the wooden desk in an attempt to mimic the song from that morning. He couldn’t stop thinking about it and about the player. The person who was producing those beautiful melody’s had become important to Harry in the span of seven days and Harry desperately wanted to know their identity. He felt more connected to this stranger than he did some of his dearest friends. 

When his desk mate finally joined him, Harry ceased his faux piano playing. Draco sat his things down on the desk in front of them and slightly nodded at Harry as a greeting. As if potions wasn’t bad enough, Harry had gotten placed with Malfoy as his partner for the year. Professor Slughorn’s orders because if Harry was to be an Auror after school, he would need to pass the potions part of the NEWT’s with an outstanding and Draco was the best in their class. 

The blond sat down quietly and pulled out a bit of parchment, ready to take notes and so Harry followed suit. He really did want to pass his NEWT’s, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to be an Auror anymore. In fact, he wasn’t sure about anything that he had been sure of only months ago. Things like Ginny. Things like his career. Things Harry had convinced himself time and again were what he truly wanted. But something snapped in him after Voldemort was gone and his life seemed to slow to a halt for the first time in eight years. 

“Malfoy?” Harry whispered. 

“What, Potter?” Draco answered, still putting emphasis on Harry’s surname like he had since they met eight years ago in Madam Malkin’s. Except the bite wasn’t quite there anymore. Now, Harry’s name didn’t seem like a poison on Draco’s tongue so much as a bitter taste like an apple gone sour. His Malfoy arrogance was quieted, especially since most people saw him as a Death Eater and not a victim of war, or circumstance.

“Erm, later on could you, uh, help me with the lesson from last class?” Harry hated asking Draco for help. It made him feel silly since they weren’t exactly friends and not exactly enemies anymore either, but he had to admit the stupid git did know potions, maybe even better than Hermione did, though Harry would never admit that aloud for fear of Hermione hexing him. 

“Fine. Library. After dinner. Don’t make me wait,” Draco said and then proceeded to pretend that Harry didn’t exist, which was fine by Harry because at least this way they didn’t argue. They learned that lesson quickly after their first week of classes. Draco was still skittish from the war and had thought Harry was mocking him, when really Harry was just asking a question. The pair began shouting at each other over Slughorn’s lecture. Each student in the class watching them and then Harry had punched Draco square in the jaw. Not his finest moment to be sure, but Draco always seemed to know just what to say to get under Harry’s skin. They had gotten detention for a month for that stunt and it was in detention that they agreed to exchange as little words as possible, so as not to begin another argument. 

Without realizing it, Harry had begun to strum his fingers along the edge of the desk again, mocking to the best of his ability, the melody that was now overrun in his mind, taking over every empty space the way ivy crawls up the sides of the castle, covering the cracks and weathered stone. 

When Harry glanced up from his parchment, he saw Draco watching him. Those gray eyes fixated on Harry’s fingers which were still drumming against the desk. Harry felt his heart start to pound loudly in his chest. It felt like Draco had walked in on something personal and Harry couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. His face went flush and he felt his ears got hot the way they always did when he didn’t know what to say. 

“Why do you insist on drumming your fingers like that? It’s distracting,” Draco whispered. 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled and fought the urge to drum his fingers against the desk again. It was the most excruciating hour of his life and then finally, potions was over and Harry was free of the blond’s angry gray eyes. Well, at least until after dinner. 

*

Dinner felt like it was moving too quickly. Harry wasn’t ready to spend another hour with Draco. The pair had figured out a system for civility, but that didn’t mean Harry liked the prat. So, whenever he was forced to spend extra time with him outside of class, Harry was especially cranky. 

Ron and Harry sat, waiting for Hermione who had promised she had a good idea for finding out who Harry’s mystery player was and if Harry were being honest, he was getting a bit impatient. In fact, it was all Harry could do to not get up and go in search of his clever friend. Harry hadn’t realized his desperation to find out who his mystery player was until Hermione had said she had an idea. Harry figured he had resigned to just enjoy the passing melody each morning without knowing who was helping him deal with his nightmares. A feat most people would never be able to do and had not been able to do, until now. In a way, Harry was almost afraid to find out who the player was because what if the not knowing was the part that made it so magical? No, he needed to know, if only to thank the person for simultaneously helping Harry sleep and waking him up out of the sleepwalk that had been his life since the war ended. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Hermione entered the Great Hall with Ginny. At that Harry winced. He didn’t feel much like discussing this in front of his recent ex-girlfriend. Though Ginny had done the breaking, it seemed she was the one who took the end of their relationship hard. She had cried the entire time and begged Harry to forgive her, but thing is, Harry wasn’t upset. Harry hadn’t really felt anything at all when Ginny told him she was leaving him for Dean. He had expected to be upset. He expected to be mad. Or jealous. Or hurt. But all he felt was relief that he didn’t have to pretend in front of her anymore. 

“Harry, Ron,” Ginny said as a greeting and then moved past them to sit near Dean and Seamus. She glanced over her shoulder at Harry and caught his eye contact. She smiled weakly at him and he returned the gesture before turning back around to face Hermione. 

“Well?” Ron asked. It would seem the red-head was as anxious to get the conversation started as Harry. 

“Well, indeed,” Hermione said. 

“Don’t be like that,” Harry whined. Hermione was such a drama queen for someone who was always so logical. 

“I’ve posted parchment up in all the common rooms like a want ad: Mystery piano player, please make yourself known to me at the talent show. Play the song you play in the mornings and I will know it’s you-H.” 

“You did not?” Harry asked, though he was sure the answer was that she really had done it. Hermione wasn’t one to joke about serious matters. 

“I did.”

“You did not,” this time Harry made it a statement instead of a question. 

“I did.”

“You are positively mental, ‘Mione! Harry’s said he wanted to find out who the player was not announce to the whole bloody school that he’s got a crush on someone he’s never met!” 

“I haven’t got a crush, Ron.”

“Mate, please. You’ve a crush.”

“I don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t.”

“Boys. Please. It’s only signed ‘H’ and that could be anybody. Look if they play the song at the talent show, you can watch and then once you see who it is, you can either chose to reveal yourself as ‘H’ or you can just let it go.”

“Hm, that is kind of brilliant, ‘Mione,” Ron succeeded. And even Harry had to agree it was sort of a good idea. If the player turned out to be a first year or something, Harry didn’t have to talk to them. But at least he would know. Because the not knowing was now sort of driving him mad. 

“I really don’t think I have a crush,” Harry said, more to himself than to Ron and Hermione. But even as he said it, he wasn’t convinced. Harry had felt a connection to the song, but also to the person who could play so beautifully. The person was as important as the song, if not more important. So, Harry supposed he did, sort of, have a crush on the player. Sort of. 

“Right, and I’m not arse over tea kettle for Hermione,” Ron added and then immediately blushed as he smiled up at Hermione who was also blushing and then suddenly Harry was getting up from the table because, well, because he didn’t really want to watch his best mates ogle over each other. 

*

Ah, the library. The quiet library. Surrounded by massive bookshelves, Harry perched himself at a small table that was very out of the way, so people didn’t stare at him and Draco while they studied potions. The first few times the pair met in the library to study, some of the other students had thrown things at them, others tried hexing Draco, but mostly they gossiped. Rumors spread across the school, planting little seeds in the minds of every budding teenager that Harry and Draco were friends/secret lovers/Draco had turned Harry evil/or some other rubbish. Honestly, the things people will assume. Harry never let it get to him, but Draco seemed to mind, so Harry started finding tables out of the way, so other students wouldn’t bother them. 

Harry pulled out his Advanced Potions book and a roll of parchment and waited for Draco to show up. He waited for almost an hour before the stupid prat finally showed. “Don’t make you wait, huh?” Harry joked, sort of. 

“Sorry, some stupid first year hexed me and I had to go to Madam Pomfrey.”

“People are still doing that?” Harry asked, which was a stupid question, but he really felt confused as to why people couldn’t let Draco alone. Draco had apologized formally to the school and then personally to anyone he had directly effected. Harry was one of the last people Draco apologized to, probably in fear that Harry wouldn’t accept his apology. But Harry had accepted it. And he really did forgive Draco. 

“Obviously, Potter. Now shut it and let’s study,” Draco snapped, but the hurt was evident in his voice and Harry couldn’t help but feel badly for the prat. Yeah, sure he had done horrible things before the war, but he had felt he had no choice and in the end, he fought against it. Against his family. Against the Dark Lord. And in Harry’s mind that made Draco brave. He, of course, had never told Draco that, but again the pair never really spoke to one another. 

For whatever reason, maybe it was the sympathy brimming up in Harry, or maybe the soft piano music had made him braver over the past week, but Harry decided to finally broach the subject with his former rival, “Malfoy, I’m, uh, well, I’m sorry that people still treat you that way. You don’t deserve it.” 

“You what?” Draco’s confusion apparent in his voice. The blond had also made a long scratch mark across his parchment as a result of turning so quickly to face Harry. 

“I said I was sorry people still treat you that way. It’s not fair. You don’t deserve it.”

“Potter, you naive fool. Of course, I deserve it. I was horrible. I hurt people. People lost loved ones because of my family and their connection to…Voldemort.” 

“You really think you deserve to be hexed every other day? Over something that was out of your control?” 

“Potter, stop. I know you have this bloody hero-complex thing, but you don’t have to save me, okay? I’m past saving. Now, let’s study potions before it’s curfew.” 

And with that, the conversation was over. Harry let Draco tell him about Valerian roots and their purposes, but in the back of his mind he was replaying Draco’s words in his head. Draco truly believed he deserved to be treated poorly. He wasn’t being a martyr, or trying to trick Harry. No, he really seemed to believe everything he said about his family and being a bad person who was past redemption. And honestly, it really bugged Harry and not because he had a hero-complex like Draco wanted to believe, but because Harry, too, felt the same way as Draco. He felt he was past being saved in so many ways. Turns out the pair had something else in common other than a seething passion to murder the other all throughout school.


	3. Secrets in the Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds out Harry's little secret, will he tell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope people are still with me. I know this is slow going, but I think it picks up a bit after this. :) xoxo

The early morning was quiet, as it always was, until Harry reached the seventh floor, left corridor and heard the beautiful sounds of the piano filling the halls with purpose. The melody was the same as it had been all last week, but today it sounded more somber because the player seemed to slow down the tempo from before, making each note linger in the air. It was a more painful version of the song, filled with something that felt like regret. 

Harry listened to the notes and felt mesmerized instantly, the new tempo seemed to match his own mood. Like the pair were synchronized. He needed this melody the way he needed to breathe. It was slowly becoming a part of him. Harry curled up, safe under the invisibility cloak, and fell into a deep slumber as the notes slowly faded from his existence, but this time, the dream continued. 

Harry was standing in a field of red tulips. The sun was setting and the sky was orange, bright orange, with tints of pink and purple around the edges of the horizon. Harry was barefoot and could feel the grass between his toes. It was squishy as if it had just rained. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a figure. A person. They were tall and slender, but Harry couldn’t make out their features as the setting sun was silhouetting their body, making them look like a shadow. He tried to move toward them, curious about their identity, but he couldn’t move his feet. So, instead, Harry found himself sitting down amongst the tulips an picking one, twisting the stem between his index and thumb fingers. 

Harry woke up, confused about the new development in the dream. He needed to know who that person was and why they were in his dream. He thought that maybe it was the player, but that was just wishful thinking. 

 

*  
“You nervous?” Hermione asked Harry as they walked from the Great Hall after lunch. She had seized Harry on his way out the the room, leaving Ron to finish his lunch alone. 

“For?” Harry asked.

“Don’t play coy, Harry.”

“Fine, yes. I suppose I’m nervous.”

“Only two weeks until the talent show.”

“What makes you so sure they will even play?” The thought had been bothering Harry all day. He was afraid the person wouldn’t reveal themselves and the thought had Harry feeling despondent. He was staring to feel very connected to the person and was afraid he would loose this new found happiness if the person refused to reveal themselves. 

“Just a feeling, I guess. It’s all too romantic not to.”

“Romantic?”

“Yes, very.”

“Ask anyone and they will tell you it’s romantic. You’ve a crush on someone you’ve never met. The only thing you know about them is the song. The song which is effecting you in so many ways. It’s like a novel, really.” 

“What if it’s a first year? Won’t be romantic then, yeah?”

“Well, no, but I don’t think it is a first year. I think it’s someone our age,” at that Hermione sort of winked at Harry, which was something he never thought he would see. It was enough to make him laugh a small laugh in the back of his throat. 

“There’s no way of knowing that,” Harry said because he didn’t want to get his hopes up, not yet at least. 

“Again, just a feeling. Maybe it’s hope. I just want to see you happy, Harry.” 

“Merlin, Hermione, you make me seem as if I am utterly depressed.”

“Aren’t you? Well, haven’t you been? Up until the song, I hadn’t seen you smile once since before the war. Not a genuine smile, not really.” 

“You pay me too close of attention.”

“You mean a lot to me, of course I pay attention,” Hermione stated in that matter-of-fact way that she had of speaking which told Harry not to bother arguing any further because he would just loose. So, he opted for hugging his friend before dipping into potions class. 

*

Once at his desk, Harry pulled out a piece of parchment and waited for the lecture to begin. The class seemed sort of restless, there were murmurs and whispers all around Harry. It was all he could do not to turn around and ask someone what the gossip was, especially since he had a sneaking suspicion it was about the want ad’s Hermione had posted. 

Draco entered the room and screwed up his face as he walked past two girls, seventh years Harry didn’t know, who were whispering and giggling sort of loudly. “What in Merlin’s beard is going on today?” Draco asked as he sat down next to Harry. 

“Erm, dunno,” Harry replied. 

Draco shrugged at Harry and then turned around to face his friend Pansy, who sat in the row behind Harry and Draco. Harry sat straight, but he listened to Draco and Pansy’s conversation. 

“What’s going on?” Draco asked.

“You’ve seen the parchment hanging up in the common room haven’t you?” Pansy replied. 

“No, what are you talking about?” Draco’s interest perked up at that. Harry could hear it in the man’s voice. He was genuinely interested in the want ad thing. Harry found himself getting nervous because what if Draco realized he was ‘H’ and then made fun of him for being such a sentimental twat. 

“Someone’s posted like an ad up in all the common rooms asking a mystery piano player to reveal themselves at the talent show. Apparently, someone has overheard the piano player’s song and wants to meet the mystery player.”

“Who posted the ad’s?” Draco’s voice seemed eager to find out and it was all Harry could do to not turn around and ask Draco why he cared so much. As far as Harry could tell, Draco didn’t strike him as the gossiping type, but Merlin knows. 

“That’s the thing, no one knows its only signed ‘H’ and that could be any number of people. It’s all a bit romantic,” Pansy added. 

“So this ‘H’ wants the piano player to play the song in the talent show, so what…so they can meet?” 

“Yeah, everyone is talking about it,” Pansy said matter of factly. Draco only scoffed at her response and then turned back to face the front of the room as Slughorn had begun his lecture. Harry zoned out pretty quickly, Slughorn’s voice replaced by the melody again, as well as, the dream. The figure haunted him as much as the song had been. 

When Harry finally came out of his little daydream, he noticed Draco was looking at him. Harry only turned his head slightly, so as not to let Draco know he was staring back. The man’s gray eyes were locked on Harry as if Harry were the only person in the room, the entire world even. It was intense and Harry couldn’t handle it anymore, so he turned to face Draco full on, so the man would know Harry had seen him staring. 

Draco quickly turned his head and began writing his notes again and Harry was thankful that the world’s weirdest one-sided staring contest was over.

*

Dinner was halfway over before Harry had the courage to look up from his plate. Seemed everyone was talking about the want ad’s in the common rooms. Even some of the professors had started placing bets on who the piano player was and who the person who posted the ad was and Harry was more than a little embarrassed. 

“Harry, you really should get in on the gossip, if only to throw people off your scent,” Hermione whispered to Harry. 

“Right, remind me to thank my clever friend for this mess,” Harry angry whispered, “Oh, wait that’s you.” 

“All right, no use in getting upset now. What’s done is done, plus it makes it all a bit more exciting,” Hermione added, clearly satisfied with her involvement. 

“Harry, mate, you okay?” Ron asked from across the table. 

“Fine, yes.” Harry responded. He was feeling sort of agitated and wanted to get up and leave the table, but if he did he might draw attention to himself and then people might start thinking he was ‘H’ and Harry did not want that because what if it scared the piano player away? Harry didn’t want to take that risk, so he sat through the incessant gossip and even added in a few theories himself. 

After a bit, a small blond girl who looked like she had to be a first year, walked over to the table and looked right at Harry. She spoke quietly at first, “Excuse me? Are you Harry Potter?”

“Erm, yeah, why?” Harry responded. 

“I think you’re ‘H,’ you know?” The small girl said and Harry noted that she wore the reds of a Gryffindor, figures that she would be brave enough to accuse Harry of being ‘H’ in front of everyone. 

“Well, I’m not,” Harry said with as much authority as he could muster up. His mates were all watching the exchange with renewed interest in the topic because apparently none of them expected Harry to be ‘H.’ 

“I think you are,” she responded. 

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but it isn’t me.”

“Yeah, Reagan, can’t be Harry. He’s to rash to hide behind a want ad,” Neville, who had been quiet through dinner, added. 

“Right? If it were Harry he would probably run round the entire castle asking everyone if they were the piano player,” Seamus joked. 

“If you all say so,” Reagan said before walking away from the table. 

By the end of dinner, everyone at Hogwarts with a first or last name beginning with ‘H’ was considered to be the mystery ad writer. To Harry’s relief, most people decided it couldn’t be Harry because he was too brave/rash to write an ad. They all thought he would just go round asking people if they were the player, or that he would have signed his name in full. And he was absolutely all right with that. 

*

Harry found himself against the wall, listening to the melody again, as he did every morning, except this time he wanted to find out who the figure from his dream was. He was still hoping it was the player somehow revealing themselves. I mean, weirded things have happened and this is Hogwarts after all. Magic is kind of, well, magical. 

So, when Harry let the melody carry him off into a deep sleep, he hoped that somehow he could make his dream self move toward the person, instead of sit in the field. 

He was standing in a field of red tulips again. The sun was setting and the sky was orange, bright orange, with tints of pink and purple around the edges of the horizon. Harry was barefoot and could feel the grass between his toes. It was squishy as if it had just rained. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a figure. A person. They were tall and slender, but Harry couldn’t make out their features as the setting sun was silhouetting their body, making them look like a shadow. Harry tried to move toward them, but found he couldn’t move. Instead, he sat down among the tulips and watched the figure run off. 

Harry woke disappointed. He was frustrated with his dream self for just sitting in the field. 

*  
After two days of incessant chatter, Harry was surprised to find that people were still talking about the want ads. He had hoped the gossip would die down. Surely all this attention would scare his mystery player. Harry was still regularly going up to the seventh floor and the player still played the song, so clearly the player wasn’t put off enough to stop playing in the mornings and for that Harry was utterly grateful. He didn’t think he could stand it if the music stopped. It was all he thought about, well the song and the dream. 

“Mate, you there?” Ron asked, pulling Harry out of his head and back to reality, “Honestly, where do you go when you zone out like that?”

“Erm, just thinking,” Harry responded and realized he had zoned out as he was walking with Ron from the Gryffindor dorms to the library. They were in long corridor and Harry was about to run into a very larger piece of armor. 

“About the piano thing?”

“Yes.” 

“You are obsessed, mate,” Ron answered, shaking his head. The pair kept walking in silence after that exchange and Harry managed to not zone out the rest of the way to the library where they had been ordered to meet Hermione. 

Once in the library, Harry and Ron searched for Hermione and found her in a small corner of the library with a bunch of books laid out across her table. She didn’t look up from the book in front of her until Harry and Ron had situated themselves across from the girl. 

“Harry, Ron, hello,” Hermione greeted them. 

“Hey, ‘Mione, what’s with all the books?” Harry asked. 

“Just studying, mostly, which the two of you should be doing as well. That is why I asked you here. So get on with it,” Hermione said with an authority that made Harry pull out his potions homework and start reading. Ron sighed a bit before pulling out his potions book as well. Hermione nodded at them and then went back to reading her own book. 

Harry was trying to stay focused, he really was, but he just kept thinking of the piano player. In a few days time, he would know who the person was, well, that’s if they entered the talent show. And Harry very much hoped that they would. He even decided that if the person was of an appropriate age, he would ask them on a date. After all, they did seem to share something. It wasn’t a one sided thing anymore; just Harry listening. 

No, now the player knew Harry, well ‘H’, was listening and the person had kept on playing. That had to mean something. It was a two sided thing now and to Harry that meant the person was at least interested in Harry’s identity. And then there was the dream. Harry had this feeling like the person he was trying to run toward was his soulmate. Like they belonged to one another. 

“I’m going to ask the player on a date if they aren’t too young,” Harry sort of blurted out. 

“Sorry, what?” Hermione asked, looking up from her book with a shocked face that was similar to the face Harry wore when he’s stubbed his toe. 

“Well, I’ve been thinking and I think it makes sense.”

“Harry, what if the player is someone you don’t like, or…” Hermione trailed off. 

“Or a bloke?” Ron finished. 

“So what if it is?” Harry was shocked at his friends lack of openness. In fact, Hermione had been the one who preached inter-house unity and was half the reason Harry and Draco hadn’t hexed each other into an oblivion. She of all people should know it didn’t matter who the person was because at this point Harry was over the moon for this person, bloke or not. 

“That is a pretty bold thing to state,” Hermione added. 

“Yeah, it’s all fine in theory, but how will you feel when you see them in real life?” Ron asked.

“It really doesn’t matter to me. I’ve fallen for them, their soul. That’s what’s in the song, you see? They pour their soul into that song and I know them because of it. That’s all that I care about, honestly. That person has changed me, helped me. Bloke, or previously hated prat, doesn’t matter at this point.” 

“Even if it were Malfoy?” Ron asked with a tone of indignation in his voice, “You can’t say if it was someone like him that you’d feel the same way?” The emphasis on ‘him’ made Harry’s stomach lurch because what Ron really meant was an ex-Death Eater, someone who fought alongside Voldemort. 

And because of that, Harry didn’t respond right away, but honestly when he thought about it, Ron was wrong. Even if it was someone like Draco, or even Draco himself, Harry had to at least acknowledge that person and how they had become so inexorably connected to his life that Harry was sure he couldn’t live without them, or the song, so he responded with, “Actually, I can say that. And I mean it, too.” 

After that confession, Harry heard a book fall to the ground with a thump behind him. He turned slowly, realizing the trio had been discussing this very private matter in a very not private manner. Harry found that he had locked eyes with none other than Draco Malfoy who looked like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Sorry, Potter. I-I,uh, didn’t mean to overhear that last part. I, uh, I was coming to get this book,” Draco bent to pick it up and seemed to be stammering, which was weird, “I swear, I wont say a word to anyone that you’re ‘H,’ I swear.” But before Harry, Ron, or Hermione could respond, Draco had turned on his heels and briskly walk-ran from the library. 

“Uh, well, that is not good,” Ron asserted. 

“Very not good,” Hermione added, “You should go talk to him and make sure he doesn’t tell people otherwise you will be bombarded by people claiming that they are the player. You won’t get a moments rest if that happens.”

So, Harry abandoned his studies and chased his former rival down the corridors that led to the dungeons. The blond had taken to speed walking at such a pace that Harry had trouble keeping up, but because he is so very clever, he decided to knock a piece of armor over to slow the bloke down.The armor clanked loudly against the stone floor and Draco halted abruptly. 

“Malfoy, we need to have a chat,” Harry said in between breaths. 

Draco turned to face Harry and the man looked positively scared. His face was even paler than usual and his hands were a bit shaky. Finally, he spoke, “I said I won’t say anything. Now, leave me alone.”

“Why do you look so nervous? I only want to talk.”

“I’m not nervous, Potter. Just don’t feel like getting hexed for accidentally eavesdropping on the Golden Boy and his sidekicks. You weren’t exactly whispering, you know?” 

“Well, how much did you hear?”

“Enough to know you’re ‘H’ and that you want to ask the person on a date, even if they are of a barely tolerable kind, such as myself.” At that Draco seemed to be slightly offended and it made Harry wince because despite their seven year long rival, Harry really didn’t want to keep hurting the blond, especially since he got enough of that from everyone else. 

“Right, I am sorry you had to hear Ron and Hermione talk like that.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, just am.”

“Did you mean what you said?” Draco asked tentatively, his voice barely a whisper. 

“I, uh, yeah I did,” Harry answered. This was a bit awkward to say the least, but of course it wasn’t the weirdest thing to happen to Harry in his lifetime either. He was, however, interested in why Draco had cared if he meant what he said about the mystery player. 

“I won’t say. Honest, I won’t. Plus the person will know soon enough.”

“How do I know you won’t say anything for sure?” Harry asked and now it was his turn to seem nervous. 

“Because I give you my word, Potter,” Draco said with a certain sincerity that gave Harry goosebumps on his arms. The blond’s face was serious, the lines around his eyes scrunched together and his brow was furrowed. And something about it made Harry’s mind up. 

“And I am just supposed to trust you?” Harry asked, even though he had already decided to trust the git. 

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Harry said and seemed to surprise Draco as much as he had surprised himself. Because, as a matter of fact, it seemed he did trust that Draco wouldn’t say anything. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah, fine I trust you. I’ll see you in potions tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Right. Night, Malfoy,” Harry said and then walked off in the direction of the Gryffindor tower. Harry figured if Draco did end up telling, it was no worse than people finding out after the talent show. But Harry really felt like Draco would keep his word. Harry wasn’t sure why he felt this way, he just did. There was something in Draco’s voice that had made him believe it.


	4. We're Not So Different, You and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of bonding, lots of conversation between Harry and Draco. They share things with each other that they never imagined they would and realize that they might actually be friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very long chapter, but its lots of dialogue and it's building up to stuff. Hope you are all enjoying it and thanks to everyone who has commented on this thus far, you all make me smile!!! xoxo

*

 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in the Great Hall for breakfast when a very devious looking Pansy Parkinson strode toward them. The girls long dark hair circled her face like lioness’s mane and lips were quirked up in an impish grin. Yeah, she was definitely up to something. 

When Pansy reached the Gryffindor table, she leaned in next to Harry, so her lips were almost pressed on Harry’s ear. Her breath was warm against his skin. Finally, she whispered, “I know it’s you, H.” 

“Excuse me?” Harry pulled away from her, so he could look her directly in the eye. 

“Yes, I know your little secret, Potty,” Pansy taunted. 

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Harry tried to play dumb, but his face was getting red and his stomach was a mess of nerves. 

First, Harry wanted to make Pansy swear she wouldn’t tell because if the general population found out that Harry was one half of the new mystery IT couple, then he would be bombarded with questions, love potions (he hated those things), and even people pretending to be his piano player to get his attention. That is just the territory that comes with his celebrity. 

Second, he was going to kill Draco sodding Malfoy because clearly the git didn’t keep his word. Pansy was Draco’s best mate as far as Harry could tell. They were close the way he and Hermione were close, so clearly Draco mentioned it to Pansy and now Pansy was taunting him with it. 

“Don’t look so scared, Harry. Mum’s the word,” Pansy said and pulled her fingers across her lips and mimicked locking her lips and throwing away the key. Afterwards, she smirked and headed to the Slytherin table where she sat down next to Draco, placing her head on his shoulder in a coy way. It was enough to make Harry want to puke. Though he wasn’t exactly sure why. 

Ron and Hermione were luckily the only other people who heard Pansy, but unluckily, Hermione had shot into problem solving mode, which is undoubtedly what got him into this mess in the first place. 

“I will speak with her. I will either convince her it wasn’t you, convince her to not say anything, or I will Obliviate her,” Hermione said. 

“Bloody hell, ‘Mione, no need to Obliviate the girl. Everyone’s going to find out soon enough and Pansy seems like the kind of girl who would rather tease Harry about it personally then tell the whole school,” Ron said quickly, his face screwed up in a way that reminded Harry of whenever Aunt Petunia watched Dudley eat; fearing for her own life. 

“He’s right, ‘Mione. She’s too clever to tell. She knows it will be worse to hold it over my head, taunt me, instead of expose me,” Harry added, his anger was starting to lessen, but he still wanted to have a word with Draco about the meaning of ‘don’t tell anyone.’ Clearly, Draco had no idea what that actually meant. 

When Harry was scanning the Great Hall, searching for any signs that maybe Pansy was the type of girl to tell everyone, his eyes fell on Draco. The blond was smiling, which was odd because to Harry’s knowledge Malfoy’s didn’t smile, they smirked. But there Draco was, smiling at whatever it was that Pansy had said. Probably a joke at Harry’s expense. And what really caught Harry off guard about the smile, was that it was a genuine smile. One that took over Draco’s entire face, from his chin to his eyebrows. His lips were spread wide, ear to ear, and the lines around his eyes were upturned in their own sort of grin. 

Harry had been watching Draco for a while, zoned out taking in the line of Draco’s smile and committing it to memory because he was sure it was a rare occasion and Harry found he liked the man’s smile. Harry felt sort of odd thinking that, but it was involuntary. The thought popped in his head easily, like a reflex, like breathing. And while he wanted to be disturbed by the fact that he enjoyed seeing Draco smile, he wasn’t. 

Of course, Draco finally looked up and the pair’s gazes met. Draco’s smile had faded from his face and was now replaced by parted lips and a furrowed brow. And to Harry’s surprised, the blond held the gaze instead of turning away as he had taken to doing recently. If Harry was being honest, half of his life, and he would bet half of Draco’s life, was spent staring at the other boy and in those millions of times they were watching each other, they had locked eyes often. Neither of the boys would want to ‘loose’ by looking away first, Harry had always considered it a matter of pride, that he somehow bested Draco Malfoy. However, after the war, Draco had taken to looking away if he and Harry’s gazes met for any longer than a second. 

So, when Draco kept his eye’s on Harry this time, it was satisfying in a way Harry couldn’t really articulate. Now, it seemed all of his anger was gone and replaced by curiosity as to why Draco would tell Pansy, so when Draco stood up from his table, so did Harry. Of course, Harry did it abruptly and without grace, so he startled both Ron and Hermione. He waved away his friends concerned glances and followed Draco out of the Great Hall. 

*  
Harry caught Draco heading toward the dungeons. The corridors down that way were less frequented by students, so Harry felt now was as good a time as any to have his talk with Draco who had inexplicably stopped walking and was just looking out one of the windows. The light was shinning in and the way it fell on Draco’s face was sort of angelic. His pale skin seemed all the more pale in the direct sunlight which gave him an etherial sort of glow that was both intimidating and alluring. 

“Malfoy?” Harry asked and laughed to himself at how many of their conversations lately started this way. With him chasing the man down and saying Malfoy. 

“Potter?” Draco turned to face Harry and he seemed both shocked to see Harry and annoyed that someone had interrupted him. 

“You told Pansy then?” Harry began. He didn’t want to accuse Draco right off the bat, but he also wanted to make it clear that he wasn’t happy Pansy had found out.

“What?”

“Pansy, she knows it’s me. I assume you said something?”

“No, I certainly did not. She’s a clever girl, I am sure she worked it out on her own,” Draco said in that drawling, arrogant Malfoy manner that used to annoy Harry to no end, get under his skin eve, but now only seemed to bother him the way a buzzing fly does. Plus, when he considered what Draco said, he could agree that Pansy was clever and devious and probably could have worked it out on her own. 

“You really didn’t say?”

“Yes, Potter, I really didn’t say. Why would I?”

“Dunno, to make fun of me?” It was a fair assumption as Draco used to be pretty keen on laughing at Harry’s expense. 

“What am I, twelve years old?”

“Hey, it’s not so long ago you were mocking me and pretty often I might add.”

“Fine, yes. However, I have grown a bit since then and don’t take as much pleasure in making fun of you as I used to, somehow when a bloke saves your life it almost makes you respect them,” Draco said that bit with a little bit of sarcasm, but Harry didn’t find himself annoyed at the man, instead he found himself grateful Draco had broached that subject because he found he wanted to talk about that stuff between them. He had for a long time now and he wasn’t going to miss his chance. 

“I respect you, too, Malfoy. For…you know, saving me in the Manor,” Harry started and noticed that Draco’s mouth had dropped open and his eyes widened, “Even if you don’t think so, what you did saved my life and the lives of so many other people.” 

“Potter, why are you saying this?”

“Because you need to hear it and honestly, I need to say it. No one let’s me talk about the war. They think I am supposed to have moved on. They want me to be adjusted and perfect, but really I am just as messed up as I was before the war. Voldemort’s death wasn’t a cure-all.”

“Sheesh, Potter. Didn’t know you had so many feelings, should I call you a Hufflepuff now?” Draco joked, but Harry only gave him a snide glare, so Draco continued, “Sorry, just why do you want to talk to me about it? Seems like something more suited for the Weasel and Granger”

“Because I think you get it. I think you feel the same as me and you’ve no one to talk to about it either,” Harry said, the words coming out before he had a chance to consider what he was saying, but it felt true. It felt very true, in fact, and Harry wondered how he hadn’t noticed before how, even through all their differences, they shared something that was undeniably similar. 

“So what? We are supposed to share our feelings with each other now? Is that it?” Draco was sort of frowning and sort of making the kind of face one makes when milk’s gone sour. “You do remember that we hate each other, right?”

“Well, only the ones about the war,” Harry realized the magnitude of what he was asking Draco, but found he really wanted this, “If you want. And I don’t hate you, you know.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes, very.”

There was a long pause as Draco considered what Harry was asking. The blond studied Harry’s face, no doubt trying to decide if this were some kind of trick and Harry couldn’t really blame him. Finally, Draco said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes, Potter. Oh, don’t look so happy about it, or I will change my mind.”

“Okay, tonight then? Library? We can even study a bit.”

“Yes, right. See you then,” Draco said and then walked away from Harry who was surprised he dropped the whole Draco might have told Pansy thing so quickly. Seemed he really did trust the git, which was very odd. Harry was, however, sort of excited to have someone who wouldn’t coddle him when he wanted to discuss things that were of an unpleasant nature, a.k.a death. 

*

Harry rushed through dinner, nodding at Ron and Hermione while they discussed the ramifications of Pansy knowing Harry’s secret. Harry wasn’t worried though. If Pansy were going to say something, she would have by now. Plus, Harry’s mind was on the upcoming meeting with Draco. Honestly, Harry was ready to discuss his nightmares, his doubts about the life people wanted for him, and any number of other morbid things. Sure, Draco wasn’t the obvious choice for a confidant, but Harry was excited for it all the same. 

Once he shoved the last bit of treacle tart in his mouth, he shot up from the table and bid Hermione and Ron goodbye. The pair seemed annoyed at Harry’s new obsession with jumping up from tables and briskly leaving the room, but Harry didn’t care right now. And, if he were being very honest, he was tired of discussing the talent show. 

Yes, he still went up every morning to listen to the player, and yes he was still enamored with the player, and yes he wanted to find out who the person was, but he was, however, tired of discussing who it might be, or who might know that Harry was ‘H.’

And because of that, Harry was ready to discuss just about anything else, so when he reached the library and found Draco sitting at a table in a far corner of the library that had sort of become their spot, seeing as they studied there almost every other night, Harry smiled. 

“Potter, wasn’t sure you’d actually show,” Draco said as he looked up from his book, “Oh, don’t do that. Wipe that grin off your face, or I’ll march out of here right now.”

“Yes, yes. All right, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I wasn’t sure you’d be here either. I guess I was pleasantly surprised.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when Harry Potter, the Wizarding World’s Golden Boy, would be happy to see me.”

Harry only laughed in response as he took his seat opposite Draco. Harry noticed that Draco was watching him carefully, no doubt the blond still thought this was some kind of joke, but Harry couldn’t be more serious. 

“Well, where should we start?” Draco asked. 

“I’ve bad nightmares, even now. Mostly about Voldemort,” Harry blurted out as a conversation starter. He hadn’t told anyone that the nightmares he was having recently were about Voldemort again. Hermione and Ron would start freaking out and try to drag him to McGonagall’s office to straighten things out. Like they always had. 

“Me too,” Draco was looking down at the table when he spoke and Harry watched as the blond picked at his cuticles, tearing small pieces of his skin and letting the little bubbles of blood sit on his pale skin, shinning crimson, before he ran his finger across it, smudging the blood. 

“Mine are about him killing my parents and sometimes about him killing me,” Harry added after a few moments of silence. 

“He tortured me, you know? I dream about that sometimes,” Draco was the first person to admit they had nightmares about Voldemort, too. Harry was sure everyone had a bad dream about the dark wizard, but no one every actually admitted it. But to hear that Draco was tortured, well, that was something Harry hadn’t expected. In fact, the thought made his stomach tighten. And he found he wanted to protect Draco somehow.

“Tortured?”

“Mhmm, he lived in the Manor, you know? Think he got his jollies from torturing me because I would scream and beg him to stop. My father never begged. He only ever took it and I think Voldemort got bored with that, so he moved onto me.”

Harry knew his mouth was hanging open in shock, but he couldn’t seem to compose his face. He was shocked at Draco’s candor and at the fact that his family hadn’t protected him, “You father didn’t stop him?”

“He was the Dark Lord, Potter. One does not simply request that the Dark Lord stop torturing their only son.” And Draco was picking at his cuticles again, avoiding eye contact with Harry who was sort of shaking now. 

“Merlin, I’m so sorry.”

At that, Draco snapped his head up and looked Harry in the eyes. Harry noted that Draco’s eyes were bloodshot and his face was pinker than it had been when they started this conversation. Finally, Draco spoke, “Don’t. That’s one rule I want to establish. We don’t get to pity the other. No saying sorry, okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Okay, good,” Draco said and his lip quirked up a bit like it wanted to smile, but thought better of it, so instead Draco’s mouth settled into a pout. 

“Sometimes, I worry that I will end up like him. Voldemort.” It was Harry’s biggest fear. That he would end up evil somehow. That he would end up unloved. Friendless. Even though he knew he had people who cared for him, Harry was always afraid he would scare them away, or worse, get them killed, same as he did to Sirius. 

“What? Why?”

“He said once, in the Ministry, the night Sirius died,” Harry paused, the memory made his stomach hurt and tears well up in his eyes, “He said I would become him, that our lives were linked, they were linked because I was technically a horcrux, you know? Part of his soul lived in my scar, and sometimes I think he’s right.”

“He isn’t. I mean look at you, the most righteous wizard in the bunch. You make angel’s look unholy.”

“All right, very funny,” Harry said and meant for it to sound stern, but instead he let out a laugh and then so did Draco. They were quiet laughs because, well, they were in the library, but they were laughs all the same. 

“Well, that’s enough sharing for one evening, yeah?” Draco said. 

“Yeah. Want to help me understand what Slughorn was going on about in Potions today?” Harry responded and with a nod Draco pulled his book out and went off on a rant about how Harry was hopeless and really needed to pay attention in class if he ever hoped to successfully do anything. Harry only smiled while Draco prattled on about how important Potions was if Harry was serious about being an Auror. It was funny really, Draco sounded a bit like Hermione whenever she lectured him about his studies, but also a little like he was making fun of Harry for being so spacey. 

*

Harry was outside of the Room of Requirement, just like he had been each morning for the last two weeks. The music was softly echoing against the walls and Harry sat down cross-legged, looking at the spot where the door would be if the Room of Requirement would only just let him in to meet his player. 

He yearned to know them. Needed to see their face, but he knew he couldn’t, at least not yet. So, instead, he let the music carry him away again. It was effortless. As soon as he closed his eyes, the dream began. 

He was standing in a field of red tulips. The sun was setting and the sky was orange, bright orange, with tints of pink and purple around the edges of the horizon. Harry was barefoot and could feel the grass between his toes. It was squishy as if it had just rained. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a figure. A person. They were tall and slender, but Harry couldn’t make out their features as the setting sun was silhouetting their body, making them look like a shadow. Finally, when Harry tried to take off toward the figure, his feet actually moved from under him. 

He found he need to speak to the person, but as he began running down the hill toward the figure, the person began to run. They were running away from Harry, who was straining to keep up.

Harry woke up to an empty, silent corridor. But he was happy. He had moved this time. It was progress. He was moving toward the figure in his dreams and Harry couldn’t help but this that meant he was getting closer to the identity of his piano player. 

 

*

“Okay, let’s start out easy. Favorite class?” Harry asked.

“Easy, Potions. You?” Draco said.

“Defense, obviously.”

“Right, how daft of me.”

“Okay, most embarrassing memory at school?”

“Tie actually, you embarrassing me on our first night and Buckbeak, that damn animal.”

“Hey, now. Buckbeak was amazing, you were just a twat.”

“Right, yes, I guess I was, but I was so tired of you always being so good at everything.” 

“So both of your embarrassing moments are to do with me?”

“Yes, you were the bane of my existence for quite a while. Okay, your most embarrassing moments?”

“Oh, uh, kissing Cho Chang when she was crying over Cedric and pretty much any time Snape called on me in class.”

“You are kidding about Cho, right?”

“Nope, unfortunately.”

“That is bloody pathetic. You kissed her when she was crying over her dead boyfriend?”

“Not my finest moment to be sure.”

“Certainly not.”

“All right, first crush at Hogwarts?”

“Hmm, that is a tough one.”

“Why? Mine was Cho.”

“Late bloomer, are we?”

“I was a bit occupied with, you know, not dying?”

“Of course, of course.”

“Well? What’s your answer?”

“I think it might have been some fifth year whose name I don’t remember.”

“Right, sure.”

“All right, least favorite year of school?”

“Fourth year, you?”

“Sixth, for obvious reasons.”

“Right, yeah. That was a bad one. Sorry again.”

“For?”

“Uh, the thing in the lav?”

“Oh, yeah. Don’t worry.”

“You don’t, like, still have the scars, do you?”

“Mmm, yeah, but it’s nothing really.”

“I am sorry, you know.”

“I know, Potter. Relax.”

“We were both total twats weren’t we?”

“To each other? Yeah. My father told me to either be your best friend, or your worst enemy. When you refused my friendship, I settled on making your life hell.”

“Oh, how kind of you.”

“Ha Ha, I know. Like I said. Twat. President of the Twat club.”

“The that makes me Vice President since I always tried to get you in trouble and always suspected you were up to something.”

“I was always up to something.”

“Ha, yeah, I guess you were. I wanted to quit sometimes. Quit being The Boy Who Lived.”

“I can imagine. Loads of pressure, I’ll bet.”

“Basically.”

“I almost ran away sixth year. After Voldemort told me I would have to kill Dumbledore. I tried running, but the Death Eaters caught me and then tortured my mother in front of me until I swore I would perform the task.”

“Merlin.”

“Yeah, like I said. Worst year for me.”

“Can see why. Sirius’s death is probably the hardest for me to get over. I think maybe fifth year was my worst year, if I really think about it.”

“You miss him a lot, then?”

“Yes. Mostly, I miss the promise of family. With him, I would have had my own actual family for the first time, ever. Loosing that was really hard.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Seems we aren’t sticking to that ‘no sorry’ rule, huh?”

“Seems not.”

“Was your dad as horrible as I think he was?”

“Yes, worse probably, but I still love him.”

“How?”

“He’s my father. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“I guess so. I wouldn’t know.”

“Merlin, sorry, Potter.”

“Don’t, it’s fine.”

“Nightmares?”

“Mostly Voldemort. Parents dying and the likes, but lately the songs been helping a lot.”

“Really? Do you know why?”

“Nope.”

“Care to explain how the ad’s happened?”

“Tomorrow, promise.”

“This is surprisingly easy.”

“It is, isn’t it. Wonder why?”

“Dunno.” 

“Maybe it’s because we hated each other for so long, I’m not scared you’ll judge me.”

“That could be it.”

*

“Fancy meeting you here,” Draco teased Harry as they both went to sit down at their table in the back of the library. After the first nights conversation, Harry found himself needing to have another conversation with Draco, so they had agreed to meet up, same time, same place. And then they just kept on meeting, sometimes without even making plans. They both seemed to find themselves in the library after dinner, ready to talk. And tonight was no different. 

“Yes, it is odd whenever people arrive in places where they have said they would be,” Harry teased back and was surprised at how quickly their banter had shifted from biting comments meant to offend, into quips that were meant to make the other smirk. A few serious conversations and the pair seemed to be almost friendly. 

“So, if I am being honest…” Draco began.

“Oh, honesty, from a Slytherin? How very odd,” Harry joked again.

“Yes, yes, all right, Potter,” Draco stopped to smirk at Harry before continuing, “These talks have really been helping me. I sleep better, in fact.”

“Yeah, me too. I feel more relaxed knowing someone else feels the way I do,” Harry admitted. 

“It’s a good thing you’re rubbish at Potions, otherwise your Weasel and Granger would probably wonder why their best mate is spending all his free time in the library with me the last three nights in a row.” 

“Ha Ha,” Harry pretend to laugh, but smiled in spite of his best efforts. Harry supposed the Draco was right, however, because Hermione would have wondered why Harry met up with Draco so often if he hadn’t told her about Slughorn’s insistence on their partnership. 

The last three nights, Harry found himself across the table from Draco, sharing things he never expected to share with the prat. Things like how Sirius had asked Harry to live with him and how it had been the happiest Harry can ever remember being because finally he would have a family who wanted him but of course, that never got to happen because Sirius had died and Harry told Draco how he wasn’t over that yet. 

After sharing that, Draco had told Harry about the first owl he owned as a child and how Lucius had made Draco train the bird himself. Draco said he had been so proud of himself because the bird loved him and listened when he called, but Lucius wasn’t proud. Instead he was mad at Draco for being soft, for loving the bird and making it weak. Later that day, Draco had come home from the shops with his mother to find the bird’s dead body laying in his bed. Harry had winced at that particular memory, almost cried even because it made him think of Hedwig. 

Then the two would go back and forth trading nightmare scenario’s. Harry’s always ended with him being unable to save his loved ones from Voldemort and Draco’s were always about Voldemort torturing him to the point of madness. Both of them agreed that the nightmare’s were crippling. Both had said sorry to the other boy when they described how they woke each night scared their dream was real. Even though they had agreed to not say sorry. They shared how they would be covered in sweat and their hearts would be racing. And that is what lead them to tonight’s discussion. 

“So, yesterday you promised to explain the whole ‘H’ thing, remember? Said it related to your nightmares,” Draco began. The blond seemed eager to discuss the mystery player and Harry wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to tell Draco about it. 

“Yes, well, whenever I have a nightmare, or want to avoid having one, I walk around the castle.”

“Don’t get caught?”

“Uh, invisibility cloak,” Harry shrugged and Draco’s eyes widened. 

“Figures,” Draco snorted. 

“Yeah, it was my dad’s. Anyway, one morning, when I was walking, I heard the song. I followed it all the way to the seventh floor. Turns out it was coming from the Room of Requirement. I couldn’t get it, so I decided to sit and listen.”

“And?” 

“And, the song was beautiful. It put me to sleep and for the first time in eight years, I slept peacefully and without nightmares.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was. It is. I still go up there every morning. I was afraid they wouldn’t play anymore after the whole want ad thing, but they still do.”

“And you want to meet them?”

“Obviously, yes. Even if it is just to thank them for reminding me of what it is like to not be Harry Potter-The Boy Who Lived, and just be plain old Harry,” Harry said and then continued, “So, how do you rid yourself of nightmares?”

“Uh, well, I…I take Dreamless Sleep Draught some nights when it’s very bad. Other nights, I just avoid sleeping,” Draco said, but after three nights of sharing their deepest thoughts and feelings, Harry felt like he could tell when Draco was being less than honest, which Harry felt was happening right now. He didn’t push though. Their newfound friendship was still a bit shaky and Harry didn’t want to rock the boat if it meant Draco running away and ending these nightly conversations. 

“Sounds terrible.”

“We cant all have our own mystery song that helps us to sleep.”

“Suppose not.”

*  
Harry was cold on his walk to the seventh floor corridor. He snuggled under the invisibility cloak as best he could. The song was at his favorite part, where the keys of the piano seemed to be humming with pleasure at the players touch. Harry couldn’t help think that he would probably do the same if the players hands ran across his body. At that thought, Harry shuddered. He had realized that his feelings for the mystery player, no matter how odd, had developed so quickly into desire, that he wasn’t sure he had ever felt anything other than desire. The feeling overwhelmed him, filled his entire body. Finally he drifted off, back to the dream, back to the figure he couldn’t quite see. 

He was standing in a field of red tulips. The sun was setting and the sky was orange, bright orange, with tints of pink and purple around the edges of the horizon. Harry was barefoot and could feel the grass between his toes. It was squishy as if it had just rained. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a figure. A person. They were tall and slender, but Harry couldn’t make out their features as the setting sun was silhouetting their body, making them look like a shadow. Finally, when Harry tried to take off toward the figure, his feet actually moved from under him. 

He found he need to speak to the person, but as he began running down the hill toward the figure, the person began to run. They were running away from Harry, who was straining to keep up.

Harry saw them reach their destination; a cliff overlooking the sea. But he was too slow, before he reached the figure, he was being pulled from his dream, back into the reality of a cold seventh floor corridor. 

*

After a few nights of bonding, Harry and Draco had become obvious sort of friends, like Pansy and Hermione and Ron had all taken notice that their study sessions were less about potions and more about talking. In fact, Pansy had taken to teasing Harry about it whenever she passed him in the halls. Ron was concerned for Harry’s well being claiming that maybe the war left Harry with few too little marbles left. And Hermione, well, she was actually pretty happy about it because it mean all her lectures on the importance of house unity was paying off. 

So, Harry and Draco decided that maybe it was time they all tried to hang out together. After all, Draco was convinced that Hermione and Pansy would get along very well and Harry was convinced that Draco was probably right seeing as both girls are so damn clever. Plus their friends were getting obnoxious. Both boys were dealing with copious variations of the same question: Are you and Malfoy/Potter actually friends now?

So, Harry asked Hermione and Ron to come to the library that night and Draco asked Pansy to come as well. The small group sat gathered around a smaller table in the library. Ron and Hermione were squished on the same side of the table as Harry, while Pansy sat comfortably next to Draco. 

“Okay, we are all here, want to tell me why?” Pansy asked though the smile she wore indicated that she did know why and was positively satisfied. 

“Thought since Potter and I were finally getting along, that our friends could get along as well,” Draco said mimicking what Harry had told him that Hermione had suggested the night before.

“I’d like that,” Hermione said. Ron only nodded and Harry noted how uncomfortable Ron looked. He kept watching Draco like the blond was about to shoot him with a hex. 

“Mmm, anything for my dearest, Draco,” Pansy teased. 

“Are you two dating?” Ron blurted out. Harry sort of choked on, well, air, before turning all of his attention over to Draco. It seemed he really wanted to know the answer to this question, for some unfathomable reason. And, to his surprise, he hoped the answer was ‘no.’

“What? Pansy and I?” Draco asked.

“Yes, course,” Ron said. 

“Merlin, no,” Pansy responded, “Not really my type. Too blond.”

“Oh, right, as if you didn’t like me for most of fourth year?” Draco teased and Harry found his stomach twinge a bit at their easy banter. Jealousy wasn’t exactly the right word for it, but it was definitely a cousin of jealousy, a distant cousin, but a relative nonetheless. 

“Fine, yes, but I did come to my senses now, didn’t I?”

“Suppose so,” Draco laughed, “Plus, you aren’t quite my type either.” Draco and Pansy shared a knowing sort of laugh after that and all Harry, Ron, and Hermione could do was shrug their shoulders because it seemed none of them were going to ask for an elaboration on that front. 

“Well, what is it you all usually talk about here, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, uh, well, the war and stuff,” Harry was honest and Draco looked over at him shocked that Harry had told to truth, “Well, it started with that, but now we just sort of talk about anything.”

“Oh, I’ve got a topic!” Pansy interrupted, “The talent show. Anyone joining?”

“I am,” Hermione added. “I learned the Lute.”

“A classic,” Pansy joked, but Hermione didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she laughed at the girls joke. 

“Ron, Harry? Any talents?” Draco asked.

“Merlin, no, unless you count being really good at not dying,” Harry joked and the only one who laughed was Draco. Both boys let out deep laughs and when they realized their friends were starring, they both blushed. Guess that was too morbid for their friends. 

“Well, I’m pretty good at Wizard’s chess, but I don’t think people would be too impressed if I got on stage to do that,” Ron added, ignoring the fact that Draco and Harry still seemed to be laughing at Harry’s joke. 

“Oh, probably not,” Pansy responded, “Draco, dear, will you be entering?” Pansy asked with a weird sort of tone that suggested she already knew the answer to the question, but wanted Draco to answer anyways. 

“Stop calling me ‘dear.’” Draco elbowed his friend and continued, “Maybe, haven’t decided. I’d probably get hexed soon as I walked on stage,” Draco said and Harry found himself curious about Draco’s maybe talent. He made a mental note to ask the blond later. 

“Seriously?” Ron asked. “People still hex you?”

“Yeah, at least once a day. Nothing too bad, it’s just annoying now,” Draco shrugged as if getting hexed was a normal part of everyone’s day. 

“That’s bloody awful,” Ron said, “I’m sorry, Malfoy.”

“Sorry, what?” Hermione asked, “Did…did I just hear Ronald Weasley feel sympathy for Draco Malfoy? My gods, hell must be frozen over.”

And at that, everyone laughed, especially Draco. The rest of the night went on like that. A few jokes here and there, but mostly the group was realizing that all their childish feuds had been, well childish, and that they all could actually get along quite well when they were trying.


	5. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some interesting things get revealed in this chapter and Harry is shocked by them to say the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter, but still a bunch happening! thank you to everyone who is still reading it and to those who have commented. you guys are what make me want to keep going! xoxo

The piano music was soft. Harry had been scared that the player had stopped because he hadn’t heard the music right off this morning. He was walking the corridor and usually heard the melody much sooner than he had today. His heart had begun pounding in his ears and his palms were sweaty. He hadn’t realized how nervous he had gotten at the possibility of the player being gone. 

Thankfully, it was there. It was just softer. Like the player was barely letting their fingers touch the keys. Harry had to strain to hear the song, so he sat with his ear against the wall and listened while the song took hold of him, pulling him into a deep slumber. .

He was standing in a field of red tulips. The sun was setting and the sky was orange, bright orange, with tints of pink and purple around the edges of the horizon. Harry was barefoot and could feel the grass between his toes. It was squishy as if it had just rained. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a figure. A person. They were tall and slender, but Harry couldn’t make out their features as the setting sun was silhouetting their body, making them look like a shadow. 

Harry took off toward the figure. He found he need to speak to the person, but as he began running down the hill toward the figure, the person began to run. They were running away from Harry, who was straining to keep up. 

Eventually, Harry caught up to the figure who was now standing at the edge of a cliff, looking out at the sea. The water was dark and choppy and the figure swayed close to the edge. Harry ran until he was a few feet away from the person and noticed they were tall, slender and wearing all black. Their hair was blond, so strikingly blond that the hair looked like a halo around the person’s head. 

Finally, Harry moved close enough to the figure and put his hand on their shoulder, spinning the figure around. 

That’s when he found himself looking at Draco. The man’s gray eyes were bloodshot and his face was turned down in a frown. Harry tried to speak but found he couldn’t, so instead he put his hand out and Draco took it. The pair wound their fingers around each other’s fingers and stood there together. 

Then Harry woke up. The music was gone. Harry was alone, under his invisibility cloak, shaking. He had dreamed about Draco Malfoy. And he had no idea what this meant, especially since he had assumed, well, decided that the figure in the dream was somehow his mystery player. But it couldn’t be…Draco wasn’t his mystery player. He would have said something, surely he would have, especially since they had just talked about it together. 

*

“So, I hear at least six people who signed up for the talent show are piano players,” Hermione said, though Harry wasn’t sure how she had gotten that information. He was also shooting a look at Hermione because she was talking very loudly and they were in the middle of Hogsmead with students on every side of them, going into shops, eating sweets, and gossiping. Hermione only shrugged at him in response to what he had thought was a pretty serious death-glare. 

“And?” Ron said, completely ignoring Harry’s looks. 

“And four are girls, two are blokes,” Hermione added, “Harry are you listening?” 

“Yes, yes,” Harry answered. The trio were sitting on a bench outside of the Hog’s Head. There was a bit of snow on the ground and it was quite chilly, but Harry didn’t want to discuss this inside of the Hog’s Head because there was too much of a chance of people overhearing. Plus, he was still confused about his dream. Draco had been the one Harry had been trying to run to, the figure that had been occupying his dreams for the past week. Harry was freaked out, to say the least. 

“Well, names?” Ron asked. 

“Janelle Winthrope, Chrissy Malone, Katy Kassidy, Amy Lee, Colon Bass, and…,” Hermione paused, “Draco Malfoy.” .

“Dunno any of them except Malfoy, and it can’t be him, obviously,” Ron said and then looked over at Harry who was only half listening. In fact, he had almost missed Hermione say Draco’s name at the end because his attention had been on Draco who was walking towards them with Pansy at his side. The two were laughing again and Draco was smiling again and Harry felt like he was going to puke again. It was alarming how often Harry noticed himself noticing Draco and Pansy together. It was also alarming that whenever he did notice them together, he got sort of angry without any real reason to be angry. 

Pansy’s arm was wrapped around Draco’s and she was holding him close to her while resting her head on his shoulder. Harry found his body was tense and he was balling his hands into fists, though he wasn’t sure why. He just kept seeing flashes of Dream Draco, standing near the cliff, holding Harry’s hand. 

“Harry?” Ron asked as he shoved an elbow into Harry’s side.

“What?” Harry responded with a certain amount of venom in his voice that he hadn’t expected to be there, so quickly he said, “Sorry, Ron. Just hungry and cold. Let’s go in the Hog’s Head and get some lunch.” He wouldn’t admit it, but the reason he wanted to go into the Hog’s Head was because Draco and Pansy had just headed inside and he wanted to watch them some more. 

Ron and Hermione followed as Harry made his way into the Hog’s Head and headed for a table off in the corner that had a decent view of the booth Pansy and Draco were occupying. Absentmindedly, Harry ordered a Butterbeer and a meat pie while Hermione and Ron chatted about the names Hermione had discovered. 

But Harry wasn’t listening. He was watching as Pansy’s hand slipped under the booth and found a place on Draco’s knee. Draco eyed her coyly and raised an eyebrow at her. The gesture set Harry’s hair on end the way a chilly breeze would. They sat there talking, all the while Pansy’s hand remained on Draco’s knee and after a bit, she began rubbing her index finger back and forth. Her lips spread into a smile and Draco laughed at whatever it was she had said. 

Harry was going to be sick. He also felt like he would cry, but he hadn’t the faintest idea as to why and if he were being honest, it was all scaring him a bit. The dream and now he was reacting as if…as if he were jealous of Pansy being so close to Draco. As if Draco had somehow betrayed him.

“Harry, honestly? Are you all right? You’ve gone pale,” Hermione asked, breaking Harry out of his own thoughts and pulling him back from the brink of crying. 

“Fine, yes. I, uh, I just need to go to the loo,” Harry opted for a lie that would allow him to get up and lock himself in a stall so he would be able to cry alone. Because despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop himself from crying. He found that tears started to slip down his cheeks just as the door swung shut behind him. Once in the stall, Harry let out a small sob and then a larger sob, until he was crying with so much ferocity that his body was shaking and he couldn’t make it stop. He had no idea why he was crying, only that it felt sort of nice to let it out, but also really very horrible because it felt like a part of him had been taken away, leaving a hole in him. 

When Harry managed to quiet his sobs, he opened the stall door to find a concerned looking Draco Malfoy standing between Harry and the door. Harry wiped at his cheek reflexively, hoping Draco hadn’t heard the crying and hoping that if he had, he wouldn’t mention it.   
“Potter, were you just…were you crying?” Draco asked and then stepped forward like he was going to reach out and touch Harry. And while they had been developing some sort of a friendship, Harry didn’t want to be comforted by Draco. Not after the dream. He wanted to get far away from Draco. Quickly. 

“No, course not. ‘Scuse me,” Harry tried to side-step around the blond, hoping he could get to the door without having anymore of this conversation. 

“Potter,” Draco said as he grabbed Harry’s arm, pulling him back toward the blond and the conversation. Harry felt his body go ridged at the touch. A flash of Dream Draco crossed Harry’s mind. 

“Get off me, Malfoy,” Harry said trying his best to sound stern, but he was feeling like he would cry again and soon, if he didn’t get as far away from Draco as possible.

“Are you sure you are all right?” Draco’s voice was softer this time and layered with all the concern of a dear friend and it was too much for Harry to handle. 

“Fine,” Harry said and pulled himself free of Draco’s grip before heading back out into the main room of the Hog’s Head. 

*

For the first time in two weeks, Harry couldn’t make himself go to the Room of Requirement. He was scared that the player was Draco. He was scared what the dream meant. He was scared that this was a trick. That all the peace he felt, the yearning to be near the piano player, had all been a trick somehow. A cruel joke. 

Harry didn’t even want to leave his bed. He wanted to hide away, under the covers, forgetting the dreams. Wishing, even, that it had never happened because he was more confused than ever. He stayed in bed, watching the sun rise from behind the safety of his curtains. Sleep had completely eluded him last night and he was sure the bags under his eyes would set Hermione’s friend-alarms off and Harry just didn’t have the energy. 

“Harry, you’ve got to get up,” Ron pleaded. 

“No, I haven’t,” Harry responded.

“But you have class.”

“So?”

“So, you have to go to class.”

“No.”

“All right, what is going on? Ever since Hogsmead on Saturday, you’ve been a right prick. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Harry, we’ve been best mates for half our lives, I know when you’re lying. Now, tell me what is going on, or I swear I will get Hermione up here to yell at you and you know how scary she can get.”

“Fine. Sit down.”

“So?”

“You know the dreams I have because of the song?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I finally saw the person.”

“Oh.”

“It was…well, it was Malfoy.”

“Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?”

“Yes, what other Malfoy would it be?”

“But, doesn’t Malfoy know you’re ‘H’?”

“Yes.”

“So, then if it was him in the dream, why wouldn’t he say he was the player? Save you both the trouble of the talent show.”

“Dunno, but I think that’s what the dream means. I think that Malfoy is the player. I just don’t know what that is supposed to mean. I really thought the player would be like, I dunno, my soulmate or something. That’s how it felt”

“Bloody hell.”

“And the worst part is…Saturday when I saw him with Pansy, I felt…well, it felt a lot like jealousy, but I dunno what I was jealous of and then I cried in the loo.”

“Cried? Over Malfoy?”

“I think, maybe? Again, I dunno what is happening. I thought the song was a some kind of sign, but now it feels…”

“Harry, we should tell Hermione. Since its dreams and such, maybe there is a magical explanation?”

“You think?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“I suppose.”

“Well, come on. Get dressed, yeah? We will work it all out, mate.”

“Yeah.” 

*

“Well, I’ve pulled out some books on dreams and magical songs,” Hermione started, “and Ron has gotten books on like mesmerizing, or like mood altering charms. So, lets all get to work.” 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat at a large table in the back of the library, each with an equally large book in front of them. Currently, Harry was reading a chapter about Greek Mythology. It discussed the different gods and their powers, Apollo as the god of the sun, Hermes as the god of messages, Hades, Hera, Aphrodite, and all the likes, and as interesting as that was, it wasn’t helpful. 

It wasn’t until Harry happened across a section about Sirens that the book started to be helpful. Sirens were mythical creatures that would sing a song so beautiful that it would lure sailors toward them, causing shipwrecks. It is said that the sailors entered a dream-like trance state where all they hear is the song. 

“I think I might have found something, maybe,” Harry said. 

Hermione perked up at that and grabbed the book from Harry. After skimming the pages in half the time it had taken Harry, Hermione spoke, “Oh, Harry, I am so stupid. I should have realized. Of course.”

“What should you have realized?” Ron spoke while Harry only sat there waiting for Hermione to explain. 

“Well, I’d thought it to be a rumor until now.”

“’Mione, get on with it,” Ron snapped.

“Yes, fine. Sirens are a very old sort of witch and their powers were in their songs.”

“Yes, we know that much,” Harry finally added. Ron nodded in agreement. 

“Well, it was rumored that the Sirens power evolved. After so many years of destruction, the songs shifted and were re-appropriated by Aphrodite, the goddess of love, to help lost warriors find their souls, or their soulmates, if I am reading the translation correctly.”

“Wait, you’re telling me the Greek gods were witches and wizards?” Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but at the same time he could because well, nothing seemed impossible after the life he had lived. 

“Well, no, they were gods, but they created witches and wizards, yes.”

“So, they are real?” Ron asked. 

“Yes.”

“Merlin, this world get’s weirder by the minute,” Ron said. 

“So, you’re telling me, that the song I have been hearing is a Siren song?”

“Yes, the newer kind, the one that is supposed to lead a warrior back to his soul, or soulmate, depending on the translation.” 

“Does that mean…no, no way,” Harry was beside himself. If this was all true, then that meant that Draco was his…soulmate. 

“Harry, you said in the dreams you are chasing the figure, right?” Hermione asked, her fingers turning the pages of another book about dream spells. 

“Yes, why?”

“Well, it is rumored that whoever plays the Siren’s song will appear in the dreams of their soulmate because the song and the dream is supposed to lead them to the person playing the song,” Hermione added, reading a passage directly out of a book. 

“So, it is…” Harry felt like he would be sick again. 

“And it says here that if the person in the dream is running from you, that means they don’t know they are playing the song,” Hermione read, “Wait, that can’t be right. How would Malfoy not know that he as playing?” 

“Dunno, that is a bit odd,” Ron added after minutes of silence. His face was screwed up in a frown as if he were the one dealing with all this. 

Finally, it dawned on Harry. Draco had said during one of their conversations that whenever he had nightmares he would take Dreamless Sleep Draught, so he asked, “Could Malfoy be sleepwalking, well, sleep-playing the piano?”

“Sorry, I don’t follow,” Hermione said. 

“He told me he takes Dreamless Sleep pretty often. That stuff is strong and will begin to mess with a persons memory if taken too often,” Harry said and when Hermione didn’t interrupt him, he continued, “So, if Malfoy has been taking to much, is there the possibility that he doesn’t even know he is playing?” 

“I am not sure, but I can try and find out,” Hermione said, “If he is, that would explain him running away in the dream and why he hasn’t said anything to you.”

“This is all so weird,” Ron said. 

“You can say that again,” Harry replied. 

*


	6. Bad Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's normally peaceful dreams take a turn for the not so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while, holidays and stuff. Plus I teach, so finals and all that!!! Thanks for the patience and for all the wonderful comments. Seriously, you guys who read and comment, or give kudos, give me a reason to keep doing this! mwahhh love you all xoxo

After skipping his morning walk yesterday, Harry had felt sick. He missed the song. So, despite his confusion about the whole Draco of it all, Harry found himself, almost involuntarily, walking toward the corridor on the seventh floor. 

He was scared that the music wouldn’t be there, that somehow Draco, if it was Draco, had known Harry didn’t show up yesterday and therefore thought Harry was done listening to the song, but Harry sighed with relief when the music began to echo through the halls and fill him up. 

The melody was achingly beautiful. Harry found his body yearning to be as close to the music as possible, so he stood himself against the wall, letting his cheek press against the stone through the fabric of his invisibility cloak. The stones were cold against his body, but the song made Harry forget that all too quickly.

The song pulled at Harry as if he were a fish on a hook. He sat down and adjusted himself, so he could rest his cheek on the wall from a sitting position. Then, the music began to lull him away into the dream once more. 

Harry was in the field of red tulips again. The sun was setting and the sky was orange, bright orange, with tints of pink and purple around the edges of the horizon. Harry was barefoot and could feel the grass between his toes. It was squishy as if it had just rained. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a figure. A person. They were tall and slender, but Harry couldn’t make out their features as the setting sun was silhouetting their body, making them look like a shadow. 

Harry took off toward the figure. He found he need to speak to the person, but as he began running down the hill toward the figure, the person began to run. They were running away from Harry, who was straining to keep up. 

Eventually, Harry caught up to the figure who was now standing at the edge of a cliff, looking out at the sea. The water was dark and choppy and the figure swayed close to the edge. Harry ran until he was a few feet away from the person and noticed they were tall, slender and wearing all black. Their hair was blond, so strikingly blond that the hair looked like a halo around the person’s head. 

Finally, Harry moved close enough to the figure and put his hand on their shoulder, spinning the figure around. 

That’s when he found himself looking at Draco. The man’s gray eyes were bloodshot and his face was turned down in a frown. Harry tried to speak but found he couldn’t, so instead he put his hand out and Draco took it. The pair wound their fingers around each other’s fingers and stood there together. 

After what felt like an eternity, Draco looked up at Harry and whispered something, but Harry couldn’t hear it. All he could hear were the waves crashing against the stone of the cliff. Draco pulled his fingers out of Harry’s hand and turned back toward the cliff. Harry felt scared, like Draco was going to jump, so Harry reached out for the man…

But he woke up before he knew what would happen. The music and Draco, were long gone. 

*

Harry had to find Draco. He needed to see the man. He needed to know that the blond prat was all right. Needed to know he was alive. The dream had scared Harry more than any nightmare ever had.

So, Harry ran down from the seventh floor corridor, all the way to the dungeons and waited for Draco to walk out on his way to breakfast. Harry was still hiding under the cloak. It was enough to just see Draco. Harry didn’t need to talk to him. Just to know that the dream wasn’t some kind of prophecy. 

After a few minutes, some Slytherins, Pansy included, walked out of the portrait. Usually, Draco was with Pansy and if he wasn’t…Merlin, did that mean?

“Pansy,” Harry whispered. The girl’s head perked up and she looked around for where the call had come from. She looked wildly confused because it seemed like no one had called her and then Harry remembered he was wearing his invisibility cloak. Quickly, he tore it off and called for Pansy once more. She looked around again, but this time her eyes landed on Harry. 

“Potter, why are you down here?” Pansy asked, searching around to see if any of her classmates had seen him too. 

“Is Draco okay?” Harry asked in a whisper again. His voice was uneven. 

“Draco? Oh, are you two finally going by first names?” Pansy teased and started to let a smile spread across her face, that is until he saw Harry frowning at her. 

“I’m serious, is he okay?”

“Far as I know, yeah. Why? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

“Dream. Bad dream. He…well, I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“Okay, give me a minute, I’ll go back in a check.”

“Right, okay, or I could come in?”

“How?”

“I, uh, invisibility cloak.”

“Shut up.”

“No, really that’s why when I called the first time you didn’t see me.”

“Wow, yeah all right. Let’s go,” Pansy said and lead Harry thought the portrait into the Slytherin common room. This would be his second visit and he noticed that everything was the same. All posh, all green and black. 

Pansy lead them up a few stairs to the boys dorms and down a hallway before stopping in front of a door. Harry looked to see if anyone was around and when he didn’t see anyone, he slipped his cloak off. 

“Shit,” Pansy jumped, “I forgot you were there for a second.”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered.

Pansy knocked on the door tentatively, “Draco? You up?” But there was no answer. Harry was starting to get very nervous. So, he slipped his cloak back on and turned the handle. Pansy gasped a bit, but then caught on to what was happening and backed away. 

Once Harry had the door open enough to peek though, he scanned the room for signs of Draco. Three empty beds, and one had a blond lump, tangled in sheets. Harry breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight because Draco seemed to be sleeping still which was not dying, so he would be able to leave now. 

“Potter, is he there?” Pansy whispered, but before Harry could answer. There was a scream coming from Draco whose body was now shaking violently. Harry’s stomach lurched and he ran over to Draco’s bed with Pansy right behind him. 

“Draco?” Harry started, his invisibility cloak down at the floor, “Draco, can you hear me?”

“Draco?” Pansy pleaded, putting her hand on Draco’s forehead as if she were checking his temperature. She shook her head as if to tell Harry he wasn’t sick. The scream had stopped, but Draco’s body was still shaking, more slowly than before, but still enough to make Harry worry. 

“Should we take him to Madam Pomfrey?” Harry asked. 

“Yeah, I’ll go get her. You stay here, but put your cloak back on. Don’t need you getting in trouble,” Pansy said and then she was off. 

Harry put his cloak back on and sat at the edge of Draco’s bed. The man was still shaking, but it was now more like a cold shiver than a stroke. Harry watched the man’s eyes dart around under his closed lids. It seemed like Draco was looking for something, panicking about it really. His face was screwed up in a frown and now he was letting out incremental moans. 

Harry wasn’t sure what compelled him to do it, but he reached a hand out to take Draco’s. The long, slender, pale fingers seemed to be calling to him. When their hands touched, Harry felt a jolt of energy go through him. His hair stood on end and just as he was about to let go, Draco’s eyes shot wide open. The gray eyes were fixed on Harry, even though Harry was under the invisibility cloak. Before anything else could happen. Harry pulled his hand away from Draco’s and the boys eyes fell shut once more. 

All at once, Draco was screaming again. Pansy was back with Madam Pomfrey. Harry was backing into a corner and Draco was being hovered toward the infirmary. Harry sat on Draco’s bed and took a deep breath. This was all getting to be too much. But he couldn’t sit here all day, so he got himself up and made his way to the infirmary. 

*

“Draco will be just fine,” Madam Pomfrey said to Pansy and Harry who were both standing over Draco’s bed. Both looking equally concerned, which was concerning to Harry because just last month Harry wouldn’t have given the prat a second glance. Now, however, it seemed he was as worried about Draco as one of his closest childhood friends. 

“You’re sure?” Pansy asked. 

“Of course. I gave him some healing potions, he will wake up shortly. His body is reacting to the Dreamless Sleep Draught he has been taking, or should I say ‘overusing,’” Madam Pomfrey said in a cutting tone as if it were somehow Pansy’s fault that Draco were taking too much of the potion. “He needs to stop taking it, or this will continue to get worse.” 

“Can Dreamless Sleep cause sleep-walking, or memory loss?” Harry asked, now was as good a time as any and Madam Pomfrey would know. 

“Yes, I suppose in very high doses it could cause such side-effects,” Madam Pomfrey eyed Harry curiously. 

“And would the person function normally when they sleep-walked? Like they could perform tasks and such?”

“Yes, they just will not remember their actions, as they are technically asleep. Why?” Madam Pomfrey was all curiosity now and she was looking at Harry like he was up to something, a look that she and countless others had given him, a look he had learned to ignore. 

“Just curious,” Harry lied. He hated lying, but he did it anyways because right now, this problem was not Madam Pomfrey’s, no it was Harry’s because if Draco were sleep-walking then he had no idea he was playing the Siren’s Soul Song, and really where did that leave Harry? Well, it left him needing to talk to Ron and Hermione, that much he was sure of. 

*

“He is sleep-playing,” Harry let the words fall out of his mouth clumsily. Ron and Hermione sat next to each other on the common room couch with matching faces of shock. The shock which had plagued Harry the entire day. He wanted to make sure Ron and Hermione were alone when he divulged this information to them. Pansy, of course, knew most of what was happening, but Harry didn’t feel like filling her in on the whole oh, Draco, might, I dunno, sort of be my soulmate except he has no idea thing. So, he waited, all day, until Hermione and Ron were alone in the safety of the common room before telling them everything that had happened. 

“Harry, that means…” Hermione started and then proceeded to pull out a book and began to scan the pages. 

“That he actually could be the piano player,” Harry finished. And at first, the weight of that thought had bothered him like an itchy fabric rubbing against his skin, but now, after having most of the day to digest it, Harry felt like it was the truth. 

“Blimey,” Ron added. His mouth sat partly open and his brow furrowed as if the news was almost too much to bear, even though it was an idea that the three of them had been playing around with since the dream revealed it was Draco. 

“There’s something else,” Harry started and then began to recount the events of the morning, the dream, Draco moving toward the cliff, Harry finding Draco sleeping, but screaming, and that Madam Pomfrey had told him the Dreamless Sleep could be responsible for Draco’s memory loss. 

“Holy hell, Harry,” Ron added, apparently only able to express himself via exclamations. Harry only nodded because his throat felt dry and his hands felt clammy and he was feeling sick all over again because Draco was ill and Draco was his soulmate and Draco had no idea. 

“Harry, the dream versions of yourself and Draco, do they ever say anything?” Hermione asked and somehow Harry was not surprised to find that somehow she was ahead of the game, again. It really shouldn’t surprise Harry anymore, not when she always seems to know everything, but it still does. 

“Yes, but I can’t hear it. The waves crashing are too loud,” Harry said. 

“Oh, that’s not good,” Hermione said.

“And why is it not good?” Harry was concerned now. Not that he wasn’t before, but really how much more complicated could his life get? A man can only take so much before he snapped and Harry was dangerously close to his snapping point. After all, he had just found out that his former rival in all things was playing the Siren’s Song which is magic specially created to locate ones soulmate and it seemed Harry was Draco’s and Draco was his. Soulmates. Harry let that word echo inside of him. He belonged to someone. He fit with someone. He was supposed to be with someone. Those were all things Harry had never let himself desire and now, it was being thrown in his face. 

“Well, the book says that if a person is talking in the dream, it is usually because there is a force trying to keep the soulmates apart. The words are supposed to help the pair overcome the obstacles,” Hermione read the last part from the book, “And since you can’t actually hear the words, that means whatever force is trying to keep you two apart is stronger, or equally as strong as the magic used to create the Siren Song.”

“A force? Like something evil?” Harry asked.

“Not necessarily, sometimes it can be something that is seemingly innocent like an emotion. Our emotions are tied directly into our magic, so something as small as one minute of doubt could infect the Siren’s Song, and therefore, keep you two from ‘finding each other,’” Hermione said. She spoke with such a casual nature that one would think they were discussing the weather. 

Seemed the shock of Draco being Harry’s soulmate, like actual, our soul’s are connected and our fates intertwined soulmate, didn’t phase her anymore, or if it did, she was not letting on. Harry wished that he could say the same of himself. Externally, he was concerned for Draco’s health. Internally, he was scared. Very scared. The kind of scared that is reserved for life and death situations. The kind of scared that made Harry understand that however weird, Draco was his and he seemed to want it that way. 

“Could it be Draco’s memory loss?” Ron spoke, finally something other than an exclamation. 

“Yes, yes, absolutely. Brilliant, Ron. Draco must have started playing the song after the Dreamless Sleep had already effected his memory. Basically, Draco must think he is sleeping whenever he plays the piano and he is playing the Siren’s Song, which only appears to lost warriors who yearn to finally be whole again. The song presents itself to people in need, basically it just pops into their heads and they feel compelled to play it and the need to play doesn’t disappear until the soulmates unite. Ironically, it was the Dreamless Sleep that lead him to the song and it is the thing keeping him from knowing that he plays it.”

“So, we have to get him to remember somehow, right?” Harry asked. He hated not being able to solve this. Also, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to solve it. Solving it meant telling Draco that they were soulmates and while they had become friends, Harry wasn’t sure how that would go over. Probably some hexing, most likely a bunch of denial, something Harry was happy to serve up to himself right now. It was one thing admitting inside his head that he felt that Draco really was his soulmate, it would be another thing entirely to say it out loud, to Draco. 

“Harry, mate, I’m just going to say this because, well, because neither of you have yet,” Ron started, “How do you feel about all of this? About the soulmate thing?”

“Erm, I dunno,” and Harry didn’t know. Well, part of him knew one thing and another part of him knew something completely different. Part of him knew the song and the player were somehow connected to him in the most absolute way. Part of him knew he was in love with the player before he even knew who it was. Part of him knew that he needed the player. Needed them in every way possible. And then, part of him knew that Draco Malfoy…well, he was Draco Malfoy. He was difficult. Elitist. He was posh and materialistic. Insufferable and stubborn. He was all things that Harry was not and somehow, at the very same time, he was. 

“Harry, we don’t have to tell him, you know? Pansy can get him to stop taking the Dreamless Sleep and most likely his memory won’t come back unless triggered, so really you don’t have to tell him about the song,” Hermione offered, but he voice was shaky and it seemed by the frown spreading across her freckled face that she didn’t actually think that was the best idea. 

“No, I’ve got to tell him, just not yet,” Harry said. His mind was half made up now. At the very least, he knew that this wasn’t solely his decision. Draco should at least know what is happening. 

“I know you do,” Hermione said, “I’m looking up ways to trigger his memory. Dreamless Sleep is tricky because it’s not as if the memory has been wiped like with an Obliviate, it’s more like they are dormant, there in his mind, but not visible.” 

“Yeah, let’s work on that,” Harry said, happy for a reason to stay here with the books and his best mates instead of up in the infirmary staring at the sleeping body of the person whose soul was inexorably linked to his own.


	7. Heart on My Sleeve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of dialogue, a bit of sweet feelings, and a small cliffhanger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. It's been hard to write while grading finals....but here is it, the next chapter and I love all of you who are still with me, reading this :) xoxox

After hours of looking at books, Harry found himself worried about Draco. Very worried in fact. So he bid Hermione and Ron goodnight and headed to the infirmary, even thought it was almost curfew. When Harry arrived in the infirmary, two things occurred to him; the first being that Madam Pomfrey had probably told Draco that Harry had been in here earlier, the second being that Draco had no idea why Harry had been in here earlier, since well, he didn’t know the whole Siren song thing. 

Harry was almost turned around and on his way back out of the infirmary when Madam Pomfrey spotted him. She waved him over to where she was standing, so Harry obliged and walked over. “Harry, dear, Draco is just over there,” Madam Pomfrey pointed to a bed over at the far end of the infirmary whose curtains were shut tight around it, “He is a cranky little prat, but he is just fine. Keeping him for observation tonight though. He’s been asking for you all day.”

“He has?” Harry asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. He started over toward Draco’s bed, his mind reeling with reasons why Draco wanted to see him. Harry was sure it had nothing to do with the Siren’s Song, but he was nervous all the same because he was about to look into the eyes of the person who he had only recently realized was his other half, eyes that he knew well. Somehow, he was sure they would look different. 

“Draco?” Harry asked quietly before pulling on the curtains to reveal a very cranky looking Draco who was sitting up in bed, cross-legged and pouting. Harry noticed that Draco, while still pale, looked pinker around the cheeks than he had in weeks. Less withdrawn. More full. Harry also noted that his stomach did a little flop at the fact that all Draco seemed to be wearing was a cotton t-shirt and pajama bottoms. The lines of his muscles were apparent under the cotton and Harry was surprised at the easiness of Draco’s posture, even after being sick. The man before him sat composed, as always. 

“Potter, where have you been all day?” Draco asked without making eye contact. Instead the blond focused on a bit of string that was fraying off of the blanket. 

“Sorry?” Harry’s stomach was flopping again. He felt himself wanting to sit on the bed with Draco. Be near Draco in the same way he needed to be near the song every morning. In fact, he hadn’t realized how tense his body had been all day until it relaxed at the sight of Draco. His shoulders went slack and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. 

“Pansy told me you know.”

“Told you what?” Harry was nervous all over again. He was scared that Draco knew about the soulmate thing, but then realized that Pansy couldn’t possibly know that, so he tried to relax. 

“That you were the one who found me. You had a dream about me in danger,” Draco’s voice sounded vulnerable just then and something about it made Harry want to reach his hand out to rest on Draco’s shoulder, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure Draco would like it. But he felt like his body was aching to touch Draco. In the most innocent way. Just so their skin would be making contact, so he could feel Draco warm under his touch. 

“Oh, that,” the relief apparent in his voice had made Draco finally make eye contact and Harry felt stunned. How had he never noticed how strong Draco’s eyes were? The grayness of them, the almond shape, the blond lashes. Somehow it all screamed ‘I’ve got you right where I want you, don’t move.’ And Harry didn’t dare. In fact, he wanted to stay there under Draco’s gaze for an eternity. And with that thought, any doubts Harry had about the validity of the soulmate thing disappeared like a whisper in the wind. Where the doubt had been, certainty took its place. It was weird how quickly it had all fallen into place, but at the same time it wasn’t. It was like it was always supposed to be this way; Draco staring at him and Harry looking right back. 

Draco sounded slightly annoyed when he responded, “Yes, that…what else would I mean?” 

“Nothing. Dunno,” Harry said all too quickly. Draco watched him for a moment. Harry felt so exposed. He was sure his face was betraying him. All blush. All nerves. All ‘hey, I think I love you.’ 

Thank Merlin, Draco ignored that and continued the conversation, “What happened in the dream exactly?”

“Uh, well, thing is…it was…”

“On with it, Potter.”

“Remember how I said the song was helping me sleep?” Harry started off tentatively, not sure how much to reveal right now. He didn’t want to scare Draco away. He never wanted to be away from Draco again, not if he could help it. Merlin, this feeling is overwhelming. Harry’s entire body was pulsing, humming. He felt more alive than he ever had and all Draco was doing was looking at him. Then he quickly thought about what it would be like if Draco kissed him. Harry’s stomach flopped and, of course, his face blushed all over again. Blimey, this was going to get old fast. Blushing any time he thought about Draco. 

“Yes, what’s that got to…” Draco spoke, pulling Harry out of his internal debate about how intense a kiss between them would be. 

“Well, not only does it get rid of my nightmares, it also gives me dreams. Well, one dream over and over, only each time the dream moves a little farther along.”

“So what? I don’t see how this has anything to do with me?” Draco was pouting again, his bottom lip sticking out. And Harry had a fleeting thought about how that lip would feel between his own. And as quickly as the thought formed, it was gone. 

“You’re in them.”

“Your dreams?”

“Yeah, and…”

“You dream about me?” Draco said and perked up at that bit, obviously interested and obviously teasing Harry. The blond let one of those smiles, the one’s Harry had only gotten to see from afar, spread across his face. It was all Harry could do to not kiss Draco right there. He physically had to hold himself in place. It was as if the second Harry really let himself believe what was happening with the song were true, that Harry couldn’t control himself around Draco. 

“Sort of…that’s not the point,” and it wasn’t, well not the entire point. Not the main point. I mean it was sort of the point, but would Draco want to hear it? 

“So what is the point?”

“This morning in the dream, you were in danger and it scared me because the dreams are so vivid and I didn’t want to take the chance, so I rushed to the dungeons and when I didn’t see you leave for breakfast, I panicked, saw Pansy and the rest I assume you know?”

“Yes, she filled me in on my…situation with the screaming and shaking. Apparently, the Dreamless Sleep is causing some side-effects and I must cease taking it, immediately.”

“It’s messing with your memory, did you know?” Harry said before he could stop himself. Really, he wasn’t ready to have this conversation, but the words were out before he could do anything about it, so he decided to tread lightly and not tell Draco the full story. Not yet, at least. 

“My memory?”

“Yes, memory.”

Draco seemed to be considering it, maybe mentally mapping his recent memories to see if there were any holes in his goings on. While he thought, Draco stuck out his bottom lip and let his tongue slip across it, slowly. The gesture was enough to make Harry gulp, like actually gulp. If he were a cartoon character, he would have had hearts for eyes and his tongue would have been on the floor. Finally, Draco spoke, “How do you figure? Pomfrey just assumes that maybe I’ve been sleepwalking. She said nothing about memory.”

“Well, I know it is effecting your memory.”

Draco raised his eyebrow in a completely unfairly attractive way; Harry was trying to concentrate after all, and asked “How?”

“Just do.”

“Okay? Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”

“Potter,” Draco’s face said, I’m serious, but his voice was light, almost like Draco was enjoying their back and forth. Maybe Draco could feel the same as Harry. After all, it was him that the Siren Song came to, so that had to mean something. 

“Sorry. I need to do a bit more research on the topic and then I will tell you. Though, you probably won’t believe me.”

“And why is that?”

“Uh, hard to explain right now.”

“You are starting to bug me,” Draco said, but Harry felt like maybe Draco wasn’t annoyed by him, that it was all a front. Maybe Draco did know about the song. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Okay, well, I should go.”

“Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?” 

“Sure, course,” Harry responded because, of course, he would do just about anything Draco asked him to do. The blond smiled up at him. A small smile. But it was enough. It was quiet and gentle and nothing like the Draco that Harry knew for the last eight years. Instead, he was this new Draco, one Harry hadn’t noticed was there before. It was beautiful. 

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome, Draco.”

*

With Draco in the infirmary and off the Dreamless Sleep, Harry wasn’t shocked that his morning walk was achingly silent. The corridors were empty where the music used to fill them up. Harry felt empty, too. The music had been everything to him. He hadn’t wanted to think about the moment it would stop, even though he knew it would now that Draco wasn’t able to sleep-walk.

Draco was better. Harry was happy about that much, but Draco was also asking a lot of questions that Harry wasn’t ready to answer. Hermione had begged Harry last night to just tell Draco, but Harry didn’t want to see Draco’s reaction. Draco didn’t know he was playing the piano. He didn’t know about the song.

Draco didn’t know that Harry was…was in love with him. There, Harry thought, finally. Finally, he had admitted it to himself in the emptiness of the corridor where this all began. He sat with his back against the wall. His hands were tangled in his messy black hair and he let himself cry again, over Draco. 

Harry knew he was in love with the player the second he heard the song, it crept inside him and took root almost immediately, but he held off on letting it grow wildly inside him, consuming everything, because at the time he didn’t know who the person was, but as soon as Draco revealed his face in the dream, it was like a wild fire was alight in his stomach, like a star imploding and pulling everything into a black hole. He had no choice. He had always loved Draco and now, for the first time in years he was admitting it. 

Stupid Siren song, mucking everything up. It unearthed him. Pulled him up by the roots and left him exposed, vulnerable, and aching with the need to be whole again. 

Harry was admitting it alone, with the emptiness of the corridor weighing heavy on him like wet clothes. He knew he needed to tell Draco. He needed to at least tell him what was happening. He didn’t have to say the word ‘love’ at all. He could keep that to himself. That could be only his, unless Draco felt the same way. Would he? Or could the Dreamless Sleep have made him feel and do something that he didn’t want? Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. 

*

“Better?” Harry asked as he entered the infirmary. Draco was sitting up in his bed, wearing the same white cotton shirt that was sort of see through and Harry chided himself for blushing at the sight of Draco’s soft muscles moving under the cotton. Merlin, Draco was attractive. Harry wondered how he had never noticed before. All that blond hair. Those gray eyes. The posh smirk. It was enough to send anyone over the deep end. 

“Better. Sort of,” Draco mused. He adjusted himself on the bed, crossing his legs, so that Harry could sit at the bottom of the bed, which he did. It was the closest Harry could get without straddling Draco, which if he was being honest, had crossed his mind more than a few times in the last day. 

“Did you actually sleep last night?” Harry asked more curious than anything. He wanted to know if the absence of the song this morning was directly connected to Draco not sleep-walking. If the blond prat hadn’t slept, that would explain it and then further solidify the thoughts that had been ravaging themselves around Harry’s head. 

Picking at a string on the blanket again, Draco answered, “Not well, Madam Pomfrey says I will probably have trouble sleeping for a bit while my body weans itself off of the Dreamless Sleep.”

“Mmm.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Why do you look so pensive?”

“Just thinking.”

“Yes, that is what pensive means, Potter. What I am asking is what are you thinking about?”

Harry paused. There were so many answers to that question. He was thinking about the way the cotton t-shirt sat over Draco’s muscles as if it were caressing his soft skin. He was thinking about the pink bottom lip that Draco always seemed to push out when he was thinking. Harry was thinking about pulling that pouty lip in between his own. Harry was thinking about how, even in times of distress, Draco managed to look composed. Harry’s entire mind was centered around Draco, so he answered, “You.”

“Me?” Draco asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. And all Harry could think was how wonderful Draco looked when he was surprised. 

Harry couldn’t stop himself from staring at Draco, now. The blond’s entire body was at attention. His back was straighter, his eyes were locked on Harry as if they were the tether that held him to the Earth and for all Harry knew, it was. It was actual work to tear himself from Draco’s gaze long enough to answer the question, “Sorry, yes. The Dreamless Sleep of it all.”

“Why?”

“Well, remember my mention of your memory loss?”

“Yes?”

“I know you have bits missing because you have been sleep-walking and then sleep-playing the piano.”

“Sorry?”

“The piano. In the Room of Requirement. You play it.”

“I play it?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Me? I am the piano player? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Erm, yes.”

“I’m the player, the mystery player?”

“Yes.”

“And you are ‘H’?”

“Yes.”

“Well, how do you know it’s me?”

“The dreams.”

“Care to explain?”

“Well, yeah, that’s why I’m here.”

“Get on with it, Potter. You are so dramatic sometimes.”

“Ha, right, I’m dramatic. That’s rich coming from the king of drama.”

“All right, tell me what’s happening.”

“The Siren’s song is a song played by a warrior after a battle. It’s supposed to lead them back to their souls.”

“And? How does this prove I am the player?”

“I’m getting there, be patient. So, the song I have been hearing each morning and the dreams that come along with it, well, they are a side-effect of someone playing the Siren’s song. According to the books, the person in the dream is the person playing the song. The dream is supposed to lead the people together, but since you don’t remember playing, in the dreams I am always chasing you. That means you don’t know you are playing the song, but you are.”

“You’re mental, Potter.”

“That’s what I thought at first, but it’s true.”

“What’s true?”

“The Siren’s song is meant to help lost warriors, like us, find their way back to their souls, or soulmates. That’s what the song I have heard every morning is doing.”

“You…you actually- you think we…are…soulmates?”

“Well, if the books are correct, yeah,” Harry’s stomach lurched. Merlin, this was harder than he had anticipated. The look on Draco’s face was one of disgust, Harry thought. Merlin, Draco didn’t feel the same. How could Harry have been so naive as to think this would work? 

“No, what I mean is, do you, personally, think this is all true?”

“I can’t explain it, but yeah, I do. It’s like a feeling in my gut. A pulling that only feels sated when I am listening to the song. Like I’m somehow close the the thing that will make me whole again.”

“You’re a nutter. We hate each other.”

“Hated.”

“Fine, hated each other. We’ve only just become friends and you want me to believe that I have been unknowingly playing the Siren’s song to you, my soulmate? Rubbish.”

“I’m only telling you what Hermione, Ron, and I have discovered. I mean, how else would I have known you were in trouble? The dream brought me to you. Showed me.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“What about our sudden friendship? Despite everything, we managed to trust and forgive each other, just like magic.”

“Potter, go away. I don’t want to listen to this anymore.”

“Oh, uh, all right.”


	8. The Talent Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. The talent show!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all you people who have read this and waited for some semblance of an ending, here it is. I am truly sorry for the lengthy wait. Life got a bit too real for the last few months, so I took a break from this. I hope the ending doesn't dissapoint. 
> 
> Also, I am deeply considering making a sequel to this so we can see our boys in a relationship because who doesn't love that?

It had been two days since Harry told Draco about the Siren’s song. Two days since Draco had told him to leave the infirmary. Two days since Madam Pomfrey had informed Harry that Draco did not wish to see him. And in all that time, no song. 

Each morning felt hollow. Harry felt as if someone had scooped out his insides like one does to a pumpkin before resigning it to the fate of being a Jack-o-lantern. An empty shell. A smile plastered on it’s face with a light that barely flickers anymore. 

No matter what Harry tried, he couldn’t get the song out of his head. He couldn’t make himself stop going to the seventh floor corridor in the mornings. He hoped against hope that somehow Draco’s memories would be triggered and he would be there. That he would be playing the song. That he would love Harry back. 

But nothing. Not even dreams. Not even nightmares. When Harry slept now, all he saw was blackness. So, Harry had avoided sleep the way one avoids writing a length of parchment about the effects of Valerian root. 

*

The Great Hall was bustling with noise. It was the morning of the talent show. Not that it mattered anymore. Not to Harry anyway. Nothing really mattered anymore. Not when Draco was ignoring him. 

The blond sat at the Slytherin table with Pansy who made eye contact with Harry as he entered the hall and proceeded to wince in a way that said ‘sorry, I tried to reason with him.’ It was all sympathy, but Harry still felt like he wanted to yell at her because she was Draco’s confidant. Pansy got to sit with Draco and put her hand on Draco’s arm when he laughed. She got to listen to him drawl on about how laborious potions class was now that Snape was gone. 

Harry wanted to be that person for Draco. 

“Hey, Harry!” Ron called, snapping Harry out of his jealousy. 

“Morning,” was all Harry could manage. His stomach was turning. His head hurt and he felt like he hadn’t slept in years. 

“Talent shows tonight,” Ron said. 

“So?” Harry answered and got a hard jab in the ribs from Hermione who had just sat down next to him on the bench, “What was that for?”

“For being such a dunderhead,” Hermione said. 

“I’m a what?”

“Dunderhead.”

“And why, might I ask, are you calling me names?”

“Because you won’t go talk to him. No, instead you will sit here and pine at him from across the Great Hall.”

“He said he didn’t want to see me, or don’t you remember?”

“Like that had ever stopped you from doing what you want?”

“This is different.”

“Is it, mate?” Ron added. “Seems like it is like every other situation in you life. Someone tells you not to do something. You do it. Usually, it ends happily. Why should now be any different?”

“Because if he rejects me, I don’t think I could take it,” Harry said and his voice was a whisper. He was desperately trying to avoid crying, yet again, for what felt like the millionth time this month. 

“Oh, Harry, I am sure that isn’t true,” Hermione’s hand was on his shoulder now and he was sure he was about to loose it when the hall erupted in chatter so loud, Harry couldn’t ignore it. When he searched the hall for the source of the commotion, Harry’s eyes were met again by Pansy. The girl was looking up while holding a shaking, unconscious Draco in her arms. 

Harry didn’t hesitate. He was up and across the hall so quickly that he shocked Pansy who was crying now and mumbling something. Harry promptly ignored her and cast a hovering charm so he could get Draco out of the Great Hall and up to Madam Pomfrey. As he waded through a sea of people, he could hear Hermione shouting, “Give him some room,” and he was sure she cast a Sonorus charm because it felt like her voice was everywhere in the Great Hall. 

Once outside of the hall, Hermione, Ron, and Pansy had caught up with him and all cast hovering charms as well to help Harry get Draco to the infirmary. Pansy was still crying, but she managed to keep her charm strong. 

 

Madam Pomfrey looked shocked to see Draco back and in such a state. She went straight for the healing potions as everyone else lowered him into an empty bed. Pansy backed away and Harry watched her face go pale. She was shaking almost as much as Draco had been shaking. Hermione and Ron only stood off to the side, both unsure of how to proceed, so Harry decided to take action. 

“Pansy, you all right?” Harry asked.

“I’m…is he? Oh, Merlin what is happening, Harry?” Pansy’s voice was all concern and Harry was torn between comforting her and yelling at her for thinking she was the one who was most concerned about Draco. 

“Did he say anything before?” Harry asked. 

“He…well, he did, but it wasn’t him,” Pansy said.

“What do you mean? That makes no sense,” Harry’s annoyance noticeable in his voice. 

“Draco said it, but it wasn’t his voice, okay?”

“Well, what was said?”

“Until the souls unite, one will rest, one will fight,” Pansy’s voice was shaking, but she continued on, “and then he screamed before his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron’s voice broke in and Harry could see Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She was looking over Draco as Madam Pomfrey administered the potions. Her brow was furrowed and her lips pursed. Harry knew that look. That was the ‘I think I know something clever’ look. Harry was so happy to see that look. He thought he would have a cry for being so relieved at his best mates sheer brilliance. 

“I know that look, ‘Mione, what is it?” Harry asked.

“Well, if this isn’t a symptom of the Dreamless Sleep?” Hermione paused and looked at Madam Pomfrey who nodded that it was not a cause of the Dreamless Sleep, so she continued, “Then it has to be a side-effect of the Siren’s Song.” 

“Like me not being able to catch up to him in the dreams?” Harry asked.

“Yes, like that. What is it he said again, Pansy?” Hermione asked.

“Until the souls unite, one will rest, one will fight.”

“One will rest, one will fight? What is does that mean?” Ron asked the question before Harry had the chance. 

“I am not sure. I need a book,” Hermione said and spun around on her heels so quickly, it shocked Harry and Ron both. She was out the doors before anyone could say a word. 

Finally, Ron spoke, “I think I’ll go find her. I will let you know what we find, yeah?” Ron patted Harry on the arm, a gesture that was supposed to be comforting, but only came across like a condolence. Harry gave him a weak half-smile as a response and the red-head stalked out of the room in search of Hermione. 

“Are you bloody well going to tell me what in Merlin’s name is going on here? Or do I have to hex you, Potter?” Pansy’s voice was venom now. Her tears had stopped and she sat composed on an empty bed next to Draco’s. Madam Pomfrey pulled the curtain shut around her and Draco, so she could continue her diagnosis spells in peace. 

“I, erm, what do you mean?” Harry decided to play dumb. 

“Don’t play dumb, Potter.”

“He didn’t say?”

“Obviously, no, he didn’t, or else I wouldn’t be asking you. Would I?”

“I suppose not.”

“Out with it.”

“You two are very much alike, you know? You and him.”

“I know. It’s what makes us such good friends. Now, stop stalling and tell me what the hell is happening to him.”

“The Siren’s song, did he mention it?”

“No, I only just heard it now when you Granger and Weasley were chattering on.”

“It’s a spell, sort of, a song that is supposed to bring lost warriors back to their souls.”

“I thought Siren’s were the witches who made sailor’s crash?” Pansy asked and Harry realized she really didn’t know what was going on. Draco hadn’t told her and Harry wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign or a bad sign. Without further hesitation, Harry regaled the entire tale from the first time he heard the song, up until he found Draco screaming in his bed two days ago. Pansy’s eyes were locked on Harry as he spoke. She never wavered. She never changed her face. Not to show shock. Not even to show interest. By the end of the tale, Harry was out of breath and Pansy was still looking at him. 

“Well?” Harry asked.

“He never said.”

“What was his reason for avoiding me?”

“He claimed he was embarrassed that you had seen him weak and wanted to recover properly before talking to you.”

“Rubbish. He doesn’t want to talk to me because he doesn’t want to admit I’m right.”

“And you…you think it’s all true?” 

“I know it is. I feel it like a burning in my body. I feel it trying to break free. It is real.”

“You love him then?”

“Yeah.”

“And you think he loves you?”

“He is the one the song came to, so that means he was the lost one. That means he was, whether consciously or unconsciously, asking for the song to lead him to his soulmate.” 

“He won’t admit it,” Pansy said the words that Harry had already feared were true, but before he could respond, Madam Pomfrey was opening the curtain, head hung low. 

“Is he?” Harry asked.

“He won’t wake up. Nothing is working. He is in perfect health, but he won’t wake up,” Madam Pomfrey’s words hung heavy in the air like humidity before it rains. 

“He’s in a coma?” Pansy asked and Madam Pomfrey nodded, so Pansy continued, “Will he wake up?” 

“I am not sure, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said and just like that Pansy was crying again and Harry felt the overwhelming urge to leave the infirmary for fear that one of two things might happen; that he would yell at Pansy, or he would kiss Draco and hope that all those sodding Disney movies Dudley watched as a child were right about true loves kiss. Both would open up doors to things he was not ready to deal with, so he stood slowly and made his way out of the infirmary. 

*

The castle was all noise and gossip. Of course everyone was talking about Draco and the scene in the Great Hall, but it seems everyone was also gossiping about the mystery player and ‘H.’ Harry almost felt sorry that the people wouldn't get to see the mysterious IT couple reveal themselves. He was sure everyone would be disappointed, as it was all that the Hogwarts students could talk about for two weeks. 

Hell, it was all Harry had talked about for two weeks. And now he knew. He knew his mystery player and that person was Draco Malfoy who was now in a coma. A coma that Harry needed to fix, if only he had the slightest inkling how to do it. Hermione was nose deep in books, Ron was owling his dad to see if the Ministry had any clues, but all in all, they had a big pile of nothing. Well, not nothing. There was the creepy message Draco spoke right before going comatose. Harry kept playing it over in his head, hoping it would make sense. 

Until the souls unite, one will rest, one will fight. 

Harry felt the first part was rather obvious. He and Draco needed to acknowledge their love for the coma to stop, which Harry felt might prove to be a bit harder seeing as Draco was unconscious. But the second part, that's what bothered him. The idea of prophecy made Harry weary, especially after Voldemort. So when the “fight” part of the rhyme popped up, all Harry could think was: Great, fight, I get to fight something. How wonderfully typical. Because clearly Draco was the one who was resting, if one could call a coma rest. But it seemed to make the most sense to Harry. It was the fight that worried him. He worried he wouldn't be able to win, or that the fight would come and go and Harry would miss it somehow. After all, he had no idea what he was looking for, no one did for that matter. 

All, Harry knew was he needed to wake Draco up. He needed Draco, period. How odd to think it, but Harry knew it was true and that is why he would fight. He would fight anything if it meant Draco would wake up. Harry just hoped it would happen soon. Without Draco, without the song, Harry felt like he was deteriorating. He felt like the most inner pieces of his soul were crumbling like the old ruins of Greece or Rome. 

*

“Got anything yet?” Harry asked, bursting into the infirmary where Hermione and Ron had set up with their books. He spared a cursory glance at Draco’s bed. The pale blond was peaceful as ever. Eyes closed. Chest rising, slowly. Lips pink and pouting, even in his comatose state Draco had the ability to be sickeningly gorgeous. 

“I think. Maybe. There was a case similar to this one. It was over 70 years ago, but one of the people was in a coma like Draco. The only catch is the ‘fight’ is different for everyone. It manifests itself based off of the relationship of the soulmates,” Hermione said. 

“Great,” Harry said, “Does it at least say when the fight will appear? I don't want to miss it.”

“Thing is, Harry, I don't think it is you who will fight.” 

“Sorry?” Pansy’s voice rang from behind Harry. Apparently she had snuck in while Harry wasn't paying attention. 

“Well, since Draco was playing the song, it means he was the lost warrior and typically, that is the person who endures the fight.”

“How can that be when he is so clearly the one resting, huh?” Harry was irritated now. 

“I don't know, Harry. I’m sorry,” Hermione was crestfallen. It was rare for her to say those words and Harry felt like Hermione’s pride was a bit wounded. He patted his friends arm because he did appreciate everything she was doing.

“We should all take a break,” Ron said and was met with glares from Harry, Hermione, and Pansy, but he continued on, “It’s just we have all been at this for an entire day. Maybe if we take a break and come back with fresh eyes, then we will figure it out?”

“Ron’s right,” it was Pansy who spoke which Harry was not expecting because it seemed she wanted to wake Draco up almost as much as Harry did and well, that was quite a lot. 

“You…how can you say that? We need to work,” Harry whine much like a child. 

“No, Harry they are right. A break will do all of us some good. You look as if you need twenty years of sleep,” Hermione said. 

“Why don't we go down to the talent show? There’s food?” Ron said and gave Harry his most convincing half-smile and Harry smiled back in spite of himself because Ron was his best mate and because Ron was right. 

“Yes, fine. I could eat,” Harry said and they all got up and walked toward the infirmary’s exit. Before walking out, Harry looked back and saw Draco’s chest rising, slowly. His pale skin glowing in the moonlight that was now shining in through the windows. Draco was beautiful. Harry was certain that he must have been blind all these years to not notice. 

*

The Great Hall was packed. Everyone from every house was present. All the professors. Even Filch was in attendance. The ceiling was bewitched too look like there were balloons and streamers and falling confetti. It was quite the sight. 

The spot where the professors normally sat at their long table was transfigured into a small stage. There were velvet curtains hanging in the front of the stage. The food was along one wall, buffet style and it smelled amazing. It smelled like the most amazing food in the universe and Harry made his way over the buffet, leaving some of his cares behind, at least until he shoved and ungodly amount of food into his mouth. 

All of a sudden, the lights went dim and Professor McGonagall’s voice could be heard above all the idol chatter. “Greetings students, to Hogwarts first talent show!” Applause. “Yes, yes, all right, we have a variety of talents tonight,” more applause, “Yes, quiet, first up is Harlan Warren playing the…lute. Yes, let's give it up for him!” 

Hermione was at Harry’s hip now, “The lute? That cheeky bastard. I was going to play the lute.”

“Why aren't you?” Harry asked. 

“Pulled out when all the Draco stuff started. I wanted to be there for you.”

“Hermione, you absolute sap,” Harry said and smiled at Hermione before putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her in for a hug. After a few minutes of, what Harry decided was terrible lute playing, Ron and Pansy made their way over to where Harry and Hermione were sitting. All four of them were now obscenely full. 

A few more people played instruments. Some did magic tricks, the muggle kind and the real kind. Some people told jokes. Some people danced. It was very entertaining and Harry could feel himself relaxing. His fists unclenching. His shoulders slouching. It was like he was breathing new air, clean air. 

“Next up, a late entry,” McGonagall’s voice carried over the chatter once more, “He has asked that I don't say his name, or open the curtains right away, so here he is.”

From behind the curtain, a quiet noise came that sounded like the first note of his song. But it couldn't be. Draco was in a coma. Harry decided he must be hearing things. But then the next note came ringing out from behind the curtains and the hair on Harry’s neck stood up. Then all at once the melody was flowing out from behind the curtains, just as sad, just as soft, just as delicate as it always had been. 

Harry was on his feet now. He was standing on tip-toe to see the stage. Hermione was tugging at his arm and Pansy was saying something he couldn't hear. All he could do was stand transfixed on the stage as the music echoed inside of him. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Harry was pushing through the crowd of students toward the stage. He needed to see behind that curtain. The music. It was his. It was speaking to his soul. Pulling him in. 

He reached the stage and cast a glamour so no one would notice him slipping behind stage. When he reached his destination, a tall, skinny blond was sitting hunched over the piano pouring himself into the piano, into the music. It was beautiful. It was life changing. Harry felt something in him open up, something that was full of desire, and because of that he had to touch Draco. Just to know he was really there. 

So, Harry walked over to the piano and reached his hand out, placing it on Draco’s shoulder. The man froze. The music stopped. The crowd of students began shouting and talking about why the music had stopped. 

Draco spun around on the piano stool and looked Harry in the eyes for the first time in days. The man’s gray eyes were pleading with Harry, though Harry didn’t know for what. In lieu of speaking, Harry placed his free hand on Draco’s cheek. Draco jumped at the touch, but then he leaned into it. And Harry felt that hole in him close, the one that had been tearing open wider each day since the music stopped. 

Then like a tidal wave, their lips came crashing together. Harry leaned over while Draco stayed seated on the piano bench. Their lips were warm against each other and Harry felt his stomach burning and felt his face flush, but he kept kissing Draco. Kept letting Draco tangle his hands in his hair. Kept letting Draco tug him down, until he was straddling his lap just like Harry had fantasized about.   
With this newfound position, Harry was able to pull Draco in deeper. He was able to slip his tongue into Draco’s mouth playfully and was met with quiet moans from Draco. The noise only served to make Harry kiss back harder. 

The world seemed to slip away with every second Harry breathed in Draco’s sweet breath. He was melting into Draco. Their chests were almost flush against each other and Harry could feel Draco’s heart beating against him. 

Draco untangled his fingers from Harry’s hair and then let them slid playfully down the arch of his back, stopping at his hips. Harry let his hands fall from Draco’s face and wrapped them around the man’s neck instead, so he could control the kiss. 

Just as he was about to pull away from the warm sanctuary of Draco’s lips in an effort to kiss along the man’s jawline, Harry heard a voice shouting his name. 

“Mister Potter! Mister Malfoy!” McGonagall’s voice echoed and both Harry and Draco froze. Harry still astride Draco’s lap, turned to face the spot where the velvet curtain had been, only to be faced with the entire student body of Hogwarts looking at him now. 

“Professor, this, uh, isn't what it looks like?” Harry tried to play dumb, again, because it was he default defense. 

“Oh, I am sure you astride Mister Malfoy is completely innocent then?” Professor McGonagall said and as she did, Harry heard a quiet ‘oooooo’ rise from the hoard of students who were all standing on tables to get a better look at the stage. Finally, Harry realized he was still on Draco’s lap and quickly stood up and Draco followed suit. McGonagall gestured for the boys to follow her off stage and as they did, someone else took the stage and started to tap dance. 

Following McGonagall out of the Great Hall proved to be difficult seeing as every student wanted to get a look at the IT couple and most of them had taken to whistling, winking, and saying things like ‘Yeah, get it, Potter’ or ‘Damn Malfoy, didn't know you had it in you.’ And of course, Hermione, Ron, and Pansy tried following, but McGonagall gave them the most stern look Harry had ever seen and so, they stayed put. 

Outside the Great Hall, McGonagall finally turned to face the Harry and Draco, “Mister Malfoy, I am glad to see that you have awoken from your coma, feeling better I trust?”

“I, uh,” Draco looked completely bewildered and blushed, “yes, I am fine, Professor.”

“Good, then you won't mind explaining to me exactly what that display of affection was all about? Seems you all have been leaving out a few details of Mister Malfoy’s maladies, yes?” 

“Well, see Professor, it's like this…” Harry dived into the explanation before Draco could and by the time he was finished, Draco was blushing again and Professor McGonagall was smirking in a very knowing way. 

“Ah, then I will leave you boys to it,” Professor McGonagall said and quickly transfigured into a cat and pranced back to the Great Hall. 

After making sure that McGonagall had in fact left them alone, Draco spoke, “Harry, I…”

“No, don’t,” Harry whispered and moved in slowly to kiss Draco. He tentatively placed a hand on Draco’s cheek and leaned in, eyes open, watching Draco. The blond had closed his eyes and was leaning in as well, so Harry went for it and this kiss was even more soothing than the first had been. 

It was like every unanswered question was being answered with Draco’s lips. And Harry knew his life was all the more for having Draco in it. And he also knew that he was never letting Draco go, never.


End file.
